


Dear Lucy

by cosmicchelc



Series: Lucifendi Stories [18]
Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room, Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Epistolary, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Letters, Love, Love Letters, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Addiction, Pen Pals, Rehabilitation, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 31,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicchelc/pseuds/cosmicchelc
Summary: An AU where Placid only exists when Alfendi is high off his mind. Abusing how people seemed to like that side of him, he uses drugs to a ridiculous extent until he gets caught and put into rehab by Professor Layton. Eventually, they force him into a pen pal program in an effort to help him. It is just by luck that one Detective Constable by the name of Lucy Baker gets his letters.What leads is an unlikely friendship that possibly turns to something more.Told through, obviously, letters and some phone calls, perhaps emails. Eventual divergence into actual scenes.[on hiatus until I get my life together]
Relationships: Alfendi Layton & Florence Sich, Justin Lawson/Hilda Pertinax, Lucy Baker/Alfendi Layton
Series: Lucifendi Stories [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1106973
Comments: 17
Kudos: 36





	1. September 21st, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing another story before I can finish all the other ones I have going? more likely than you think. My head is always buzzing for ideas and I just needed to put this down on paper.
> 
> This is by no means an accurate rendition of therapy and rehab. It’s a fictionalization to fit the plot. I apologize in advance if I don’t quite nail the portrayals I am attempting; it’s truly hard to when a) the people you’re writing about practically are just in a small game and b) the thing I’m attempting to portray is different for everyone.
> 
> Congratulations as well, this is an ao3 only story. I'm too lazy right now to put these chapters into ff.net and wattpad, but perhaps some other date.

Dear Whoever,

Rest assured that I'm not doing this by my own choice and you don't have to respond back if I'm too harsh to you. An insipid worker in this dreadful facility had told me to start writing letters to someone as a means of therapy. Just like the rest of his lot, they're all way too simple. Thinking I could be solved with some ridiculous letters. He had put me through a pen pal program, so I guess you're either very lonely or have too much time on your hands. I've been told to feel like I have some sort of tie to this world by making a letter with someone. 

You know, stranger, my time could be used in better ways. I could be seeing the minds of criminals. I could be seeing blood pouring from a wound, the way that it pools around the body that it leaks from. I could be solving crime, just like I was before I was hastily placed in this rehab facility because of my father and all the other common minds. For your information, you're speaking to a former drug addict. I see no need to hide that from you because I'm sure you want someone better to talk to than that, so perhaps it will dissuade you from writing back. Do you know how ridiculous this is? I'm watched constantly and am forced to do nothing. They don't understand that the cocaine makes me nicer, makes me less abrasive. Better than what they see today.

Anyway, I bet this has been ever so enlightening to you. Talking to me. I don't care if you respond back or not, unless you also have a package of cocaine with it. I can already feel the need of cocaine leaving me, how amusing.

Write back to me or not. I don't care. Leaves less for me to do to 'fix' my problems.

Alfendi Layton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will mention now that this will eventually turn to an 'actual story' as in the whole dialogue and directions and the like. This isn't necessarily something I would call a slow burn, though we shall see where it goes.
> 
> I apologize now if Alfendi and Lucy sound a bit OOC, but I swear that it's not meant to be that way. I just have difficulties in truly conveying them with a lack of context, you know? Like I mentioned above, they’re characters with very little time on the game and I have to make up a lot of assumptions because I don’t have enough material to work with. It’s also different to write as though you are them versus writing as though you are analyzing them. The difference doesn't seem clear, but I promise it is stark.
> 
> This is the story, truthfully, that I've been afraid of. Getting inside the heads of Alfendi and Lucy seems so challenging in this way. I've roleplayed in the past with other characters, but never so much to this extent...it's...a challenging prospect, but ever so fun.


	2. September 29, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written out the first 10 chapters of this story. One will be released every day, if possible.
> 
> Jeez, why couldn't I have this writing habit back when the fandom was still large? How very disappointing.

Dear Mr. Layton,

My goodness, I could almost feel the snark coming from your letter. Not that I'm upset, really, I actually kinda laughed at it. Is that weird? I'm Lucy Baker, Detective Constable, assistant to Inspector Blaine Dartwright! I just became a Detective Constable fairly recently, so isn't it your lucky day that your pen pal is one since you enjoy blood and criminals so much? Your desire to be inside a criminal's mind is a tad bit off putting, but it's a part of my job so I actually kind of found myself being amused. 

You're in rehab for drugs? That's interesting. Not to sound like I'm judging you or anything. Can't really show that in text, hm? My old friend used to go through rehab because of his alcohol problem so I remember those dreary walls really well. I'm kinda here if you need anything, if you do write back.

Your last name is familiar. Is your father Professor Hershel Layton? If so, that's fascinating! Layton isn't a common name, so I'm sorry if the leap of logic is too high. If so, the whole wanting to be in someone's head makes a little more sense then, isn't he the Professor that enjoys puzzles and solves things? There's probably a better way to describe that, but writing out a letter in pen prevents much erasure. :(

Thanks for writing to me. I've been waiting for a pen pal, but the system is weird, so you're my first and only pen pal at the moment! I only asked for one and they ended up giving me the (possible) son of Professor Layton! Or well, at least some strange man with an affinity for death! I'm not very picky. 

I hope you like my company. This really brightened my day, you know. Inspector Dartwright got upset that I didn't see something crucial in our case at the moment, but he'll forgive me soon enough. He's just one of those weird workaholics and isn't used to help.

Anyway, write back! I'd love to hear more from you.

Lucy Baker

P.S. No cocaine with this letter, I'm afraid. 


	3. October 2nd, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more, for fun.

Dear Ms. Baker,

You work with Blaine Dartwright? Good grief, I hope you have enough steel to stand him and his irritating self, that sorry sack of existence. He's the most uptight Inspector I've ever had the misfortune to work around back when I did. He's the biggest hiring mistake that the Yard has ever made. Even his name makes me want to throw my pen across the room, but it's the only form that I can write back to you, so I won't try to ruin it.

I must admit, I am surprised by fate's musings that we are put together. I was a Detective Chief Inspector at the Yard prior to my usage of cocaine, to which I was demoted at first, but they couldn't have me as a loose end and forced me out. My father (yes, the esteemed Professor Layton) had forced me through rehab. Not the way I wanted my late twenties spent, but it's his money and not mine. I could hardly care less. He promised that if I cleaned up my act that I would be able to return. Not even sure that I'd like that, not with Dartwright still sniffing around. He's probably vying to be promoted to DCI and take my place. He was always ever so fond of wanting to see me destroyed.

I will say that your letter also comes at a surprise. My desire to know of criminal minds and see blood spill is typically the deterrent for any continuous conversation, but you are a DC. Perhaps it's just something you enjoy. We all have our strange habits, Ms. Baker. 

I hate to express that I do hope you write back. I would like to hear about the Yard and what goes on.

Alfendi Layton

P.S. I do despise the drawl of formality. Please refrain from using Mr. Layton.


	4. October 5th, 2012

Dear Prof,

How about that address? I know it sounds dumb because your father is Professor Layton, but I think it's kinda funny. I was going to call you Inspector, but that just seems way too formal. So...you're going to stick with either Prof or Mr. Layton. I really hope you take the former.

Inspector Dartwright is not the Yard's worst hiring decision! He's a great man, just a bit caged off and married to his work. He prides himself in working, though I will admit when I asked about you, his eyes turned really dark and told me not to speak your name ever again. It only made him worse and made him all snappy, but I know he has a soft spot for me. I just gotta work at it!

As for how the Yard's going? Well, I've made a couple of friends. Justin, Hilda, Florence, Sniffer, and Dustin all work in my area so I could only really ask them. I was kinda scared to ask the Commissioner, but if you want me to ask, I'll ask next time?

I asked each of them about you, oh Prof, you shoulda seen the look on their faces! I didn't tell 'em about the pen pal arrangement, so instead I told them that I was going through some old files and found yours. They all had different things to say. Justin gave me the side-eye and told me that you were long gone from here. Hilda looked upset and told me to get back to work, I think I struck a chord with her. Sniffer and Dustin knew of you, with the latter saying that he still can't thank you enough for helping his brother with something but thought you were a little scary until you started doing cocaine. Sniffer thinks you were the strange guy at the back and knows nothing much except for what Justin told him. Florence was the only person that actually told me about you. 

Flo said that you were a strange one. Really mean to all the criminals and pretty snappy. You were, at best, tolerable when it came to your co-workers and it wasn't until you started doing cocaine that you were nice, but in short bursts. She was the first, she said, the first one to witness your ‘other personality’ as she calls it. Everyone calls it that, actually. Just in different ways. She said she helped ya hide your drug habit but you wouldn't let her take a part of the fall, so there's some niceness in ya even though you think cocaine is your fix of for that stuff.

I think you're still pretty swell if this is you sober, Prof. Yeah, you're kinda rough around the edges but you're still nice. Maybe I'm just strange? I’ve been called that before. Heh.

Lucy Baker

P.S. Don't call me Ms. Baker. I also don't really like the formality. Just Lucy? Maybe?


	5. October 9th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, alright, I feel really giddy after seeing people start to read up, so I’ll do another upload just for fun. this story is so exciting to me! I’ve never written up “ahead” of time and now I just want to publish them all! what a dilemma... ;^;

Dear Lucy,

Despite the fact that I heavily loathe the nickname you have decided to grace, I suppose I cannot force you to alter it. My father, who is actually a professor, as you are aware, wouldn't quite find it amusing. I am, unfortunately, privy to your poor sense of humor. I cannot think of a nickname appropriate of equal scorn in regards to your name, so I will use your first name for now. 

I am not surprised of the reaction towards the Yard. Dartwright hates me just as much as I hate him, as I have mentioned. I apologize that he has made your life difficult. What I wouldn't do to cut his tongue, believe me. To see the way his eyes would just widen as I caused him to bleed profusely? Beautiful. As for the Commissioner, I ask that you don’t ask him about me. He may find our correspondence odd and perhaps even inform my father. I don’t believe he’s aware of you quite yet—I’d like for it to stay that way before he begins to meddle.

Based on how your letter sounds, it appears you have questions on why your associates have reacted in such a volatile manner—at least some of them. Justin was my former best friend, who felt betrayed at the concept of me doing cocaine and hated it. He has quite the high horse when it comes to his morals, to which I hold much irritance but no ill will. Hilda was my former lover. I had...a large falling out with her after she took Justin’s side. Never quite saw me the same way. She was interesting, to say the least. Sniffer and Dustin were relatively new, only really meeting my cocaine side, I don't find their response surprising.

Florence...well, I do not deny I hold a soft spot for her at the very least. We were both starting in our respective positions when we first started. Taking up cocaine in the Mystery Room while she was still at the Yard wasn’t much of a mistake, but it certainly did prove how much better my ‘other personality’ is. What she says is correct, she helped me cover up my drug habit until it became a chore rather than a favor. I did not force her to continue and made sure her name had nothing to do with my spot into rehab. She visits me, from time to time.

I wonder if my back office, the Mystery Room, is still waiting for me. It would be to no surprise that they would clear it out, but I can imagine how much work that would take. Besides, there's no cocaine there--they've checked. Drugs busts are always so frustrating. Tossing things around, looking for something they know they’ll never find. Florence should have a spare key. I loathe asking for favors, but I must request that you go see it, if possible. I'm not necessarily seeking for anything, just to ask what it looks like after my absence.

I am particularly curious on how my Reconstruction Machine is working. You’ll know what it looks like when you see it. I detested, back then, going into crime scenes when I was high. I normally heavily enjoy the being on the site of an actual crime scene, but being found out through my cocaine usage that early would not have been pleasant. That machine was used so I could inspect crime scenes without having to actually be there. It's quite the handy tool, especially when the scene of the murder has been cleaned up already. Pictures are so useless sometimes, especially when the people who take it tend to only know how to press a button instead of capturing the essence of a scene.

I find that this correspondence is aptly making my days at this rehab center much less irritating. My supervising doctor at least finds it that way, but believes that I should ask about you in turn. What lead you to being a Detective Constable? Not everyone quite finds this line of work interesting, some actually find it disturbing. I liked the disturbing nature, if you ask me.

Alfendi Layton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m actually kind of curious, do you guys have any particular “voice claim” for these two? I know at the moment we don’t have anything to go off on who would...voice them, but I’m wondering if any of you do.


	6. October 12th, 2012

Dear Prof,

Hehe, glad to see that you see my perspective in this whole thing. I'm going to call you Prof whether you like it or not!

I'll admit that I'm kinda surprised Hilda used to be your girlfriend. I don't really know what you look like, but I can't really see it. She's so uptight and always on edge, only really paying attention to her cases. She almost rivals Inspector Dartwright in her workaholic nature. Justin’s even more surprisin’! He’s a hearty kind of guy, but blimey, I remember how his jaw clenched when I mentioned ya.

As for the Mystery Room you asked about, I did ask Florence and had to admit how I knew you to her. She is heavily curious, wondering how you are and is sorry that she hasn't been able to visit you because work has piled up. She gave me the spare key though and took me into your office. I mean, wow Prof, I'm messy but you're a whole other level! Though everything looks like it hasn't been touched in ages; there's a thin sheet of dust around everything.

I did find that Reconstruction Machine you had and blimey, that thing is cool! I loaded up the most recent case that Inspector Dartwright and I were workin' on and sure enough, it pulled up! I saw some new evidence and made my own correct conclusions. You shoulda seen the look on his face! He was upset that I solved it faster than he did and thought that I was cheating somehow. I just told him that I had reexamined the photographs and the evidence we already had and he just looked grumpy all day. If you don't mind, could I use that Reconstruction Machine some more? I'd really like to. Inspector Dartwright is a good teacher, but he's just a little difficult sometimes. If I can learn through your machine, perhaps the name of Prof is even more apt than before!

To answer your question on why, I went into being a Detective Constable because I was really sapped into all those detective stories as a bairn. It was only the next step, really. I want to be a DCI though, just like you! I would think it'd be interesting enough. Did you know that I almost failed my test because of how sick I was the day of it? Probably bad food that I ate before, but I almost didn't! I wonder where that woulda left me. Commissioner Barton told me that I could still be useful though, but I'd have to learn from an Inspector. Not that I minded, really. What about you? Why did you become Detective Chief Inspector Layton?

Hey, I just thought of something: I coulda learned from you if you were still here! Maybe some other time. I bet you'll get clean and be able to show how good you are at being a DI.

Oh, shoot! I gotta go. Dartwright's lookin' at me like I did somethin' wrong and I don't want him to see how I figured out the case before him. If he hates you like you say, he's not gonna be happy with me speaking to you and getting an unfair advantage.

Catch ya later, Prof!

Lucy Baker


	7. October 16th, 2012

Dear Lucy,

First of all, I will ignore the remark about the Mystery Room being messy. If you desire to keep your fingers, I would highly recommend that you stop expressing distaste for it.

Second of all, if it means to wipe that ridiculous _omnipresent_ _smirk_ off of Dartwright's face, I will gladly allow you to use the Reconstruction Machine as much as you would like. It is the closest thing to a punch that I will be able to give to him in my current position for being an absolute arse. I even encourage you to use it the moment you gain a new case so you can get a head start against him. It's much more viable than the machine gaining dust. You may tell Florence to give you the spare key--I doubt she has any use for it anyway.

I could only imagine how scandalized Dartwright must have been to see you solve a crime on your own when his list of achievements and time at the Yard is of great length, it is something he highly prides himself in besides his hair.

Also, will you please let Florence know that her lack of visitation ~~is fine~~ isn't something I care much for. ~~It will prevent her from risking herself and association with me.~~ I know how the Yard can be constricting, especially in her position. If she had visited recently, it would be all for naught anyway, for my behavior has landed me in hot water. It has recently come to my attention that calling a fellow person in rehab a waste of space that could use to lose her tongue for talking so much during group work is not the best way to continue having privileges. The ability to write to you should have been revoked as well, but my doctor appears to be aware that it has been supposedly helping me. So they've allowed me this pleasure, at least.

I must say, I am surprised of your tenacity to respect the wishes of a drug addict and even ask to use my things rather than take them by force. ~~I will never understand your unyielding kindness towards me.~~ Your trust and civility expands further than most I have met. Take that as a compliment as you like. I am sure that the person involved in your life must be quite lucky to have you.

Most individuals who do seek the life of being a part of the Yard do tend to stem from childhood interests. I am not much surprised of your interest in that. As for myself, I found it to be interesting. I was a peculiar child, my father would probably tell you. I was fascinated at seeing why people did things, particularly things seen unacceptable to society. Coupled with the puzzle solving nature of my father, it blended into a strange interest for murder. I found little understanding as to why people committed murder. Solving the puzzle, you could say, brought everything to interest. I used to, in the past, desire to get into the minds of criminals. This want turned into a desire to see the workings of the human mind, but psychology sounded quite bland to me as a subject. It didn't have enough blood, I'm afraid, so I searched around until criminology was introduced to me. There, I worked up. Barton would probably say that I am one of the best Inspectors he has seen in many years, but hate that I became interested in cocaine. That is not an exaggeration. Within working at the Yard for four years, I became a Detective Chief Inspector. That, Lucy, is not an easy feat. 

I do leave open the concept that I could have been your mentor had the situation been different. I am imagining your voice and how you would fit into the complex world of mine. I would not be a very easy individual to work with. I have not had any previous assistants, but I can guarantee that I would have most likely made you run away at the first sight of me. Mood swings, drug habits, the list can go on. It is possible I would have been on cocaine, just to appeal to you. In honesty, as much as admittance to this fact is frustrating: you are better off with Dartwright, even if he is a slithering excuse for a human being.

Do tell me one of your cases after you use the Reconstruction Machine. I'm quite interested.

Alfendi Layton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the slowness of the fic. It’ll get to something interesting...very...very soon. 
> 
> Tomorrow, I am thinking of a possible double upload. I’m way too excited. So much for suspense.


	8. October 19th, 2012

Dear Prof,

Thanks, Prof! I'm gonna use the machine a bit. Nobody, except for Dustin and Flo know that I've been sneaking here on my breaks to use it. Flo thinks its funny you even let me touch it, let alone come into the space you call your office for the past seven years. Apparently you're normally very territorial.

When I told Flo about what you did to your fellow patient, she laughed and muttered something about how only you would be that much of an idiot, but conceded to say that it was fine. I can’t believe you’d do that, Prof! Well, actually, I’m not but that was still really mean to threaten that woman. Some people take talking as their safety, to quell the darkness of silence. 

Hmm...Maybe we could do a phone call sometime, since a visit is too high of a reach at the moment. It's not like I’m all the way across the world, so it'll be easy. When was the last time you had visitors, Prof? Besides Flo, she says she hasn't seen you in awhile. Though do I hear a hint of care in the words you put about Flo havin' to take a risk to see you? Hmm. ;)

I'm going to respond to you as much as I can, as many times as I can, Prof. Sod what you think about your presence, even though you just gave me some evidence as to why your presence is bad...but truthfully? I enjoy your company! I told you that I wanted a pen pal for awhile. Drug addict or not, you're still a person. 100% human! I think. Are you like a vampire or something? Heh, I'm joking. I don't think any level of previous drug use or anything, really, can make me believe that they don't deserve the kindness of company and conversation. 

I'm not surprised at your description on why you went into the career you did. Makes sense and all. We're kinda similar! Well, I didn't think much of the whole blood thing or the inner workings of criminals, but hey, to each their own! I don't judge. :)

You said you wanted to learn about a case, so how about one that just wrapped up? This young man by the name of Jack Potsby was murdered and you wouldn’t believe what happened! I wish I could send you the whole case file so you can make your own conclusions before I tell you the conclusion, but I can't. I'll probably be very reticent in the details, so I'm just gonna get to the basics and the way I solved it. 

But it's okay, basically Mr. Potsby was stabbed by someone while his wife was takin' a shower. We had three suspects and you know, Inspector Dartwright was stumped for hours, unsure of how it even happened! There was no murder weapon! None! You shoulda seen how much coffee he drank tryna figure it out. 

It wasn't until I snuck out and used the Reconstruction Machine, gave it one big look, and realized that it's possible that the weapon...was the type to melt! Well, the conclusion I came up with was that it could vanish at first. The melting part came after much thinking and deducing.

Using the machine, I found a scrap of card that oddly looked it used to be a knife! And you know, it took me a bit to piece it together and boom! I figured it out. The wife had a motive, you see, to kill for money from the husband's end! She let it slip when Inspector Dartwright and I were interrogating her and it all clicked! That's kinda why I went explorin' on my own. I realized that maybe she'd melt the weapon in the pasta they were supposed to have! Well, lack of pasta, really. There were no bowls, no nothing to solidify why there was just boilin' water.

I let her have it the following day. You wouldn't believe the way she crumbled and Inspector Dartwright just stared at me like I gained three heads! But I was right! She admitted it easily enough after I hit her with a bunch of explanations--she never left her apartment, the pot which would definitely have traces of Jack's blood, and the mould! Florence helped too with Forensics, so it really put the wife in...hot water. Heh. Blimey, she looked so upset and called for her lawyer. It was crazy! I wish you were there to have seen it. :D

I'll let you know if we have more cases that are as interestin' as that! I'm tellin' ya, Prof, I'm learning more from the Reconstruction Machine than Inspector Dartwright. Don't let him hear that. He'll be in a strop.

Lucy Baker

P.S. No, I don't have anyone in my life in the way you're sayin'. Where'd you get that notion? I've never really had the time. Inspector Dartwright's been makin' moves as though I can't see his flirtations even though he tries to be brash to hide it. I don't really like it, but he has enough morals to not pursue a relationship and make the workplace uncomfortable. But I just know he's tryin', Prof.

P.P.S. Are you guys allowed to go outside? Maybe you should enjoy the sun. It'll be sunny for the next few days! Perhaps you will like it. I know I do. :)


	9. October 22nd, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double upload! I just really want to get to the next letter. It’s really summat good.

Dearest Lucy,

I apologize in advance if my handwriting is shaky. Not that my normal scrawl is easy to read on a normal basis, so it might be a challenge to read. I'm just a bit tired, admittedly. I was allowed out a bit and attempted to enjoy the day for once at your recommendation. Only an hour ago I was made aware of your letter; I didn't have time to read it until now, so I am hoping that they manage to get this in your hands very soon.   
  
To answer your question, the last person that had visited me was the Commissioner. That was two months ago. I have yet to have another visitor. I also do care for Flo, you know. She has been invaluable in the past for hiding my habits and could have very well risked her job. Of course I care.

I'm surprised you don't have a lover. ~~It’s a good thing.~~ An absolute shame. I had just expected that someone with your personality would have an easy chance of gaining one. People tend to be attracted to such individuals with bubbly personalities and lightness, it's almost as infectious as any sort of recreational drug. Even _Inspector Dartwright_ , a man who only sees work as his priority, tried to make a move on you. ~~You are probably very lovable.~~

That was a bit presumptuous of me, wasn't it? Sorry. How old are you? I suppose that's a question I should have asked back when our correspondence began. I'm twenty-nine, for your information, so you don't have to ask me later. I'm assuming because of the fact that you're new to the force that you must be at least older than 21, though not older than me. Around the age of the early twenties, I would presume. Best guess. 98.51% certainty.

Nevertheless, I find that I'm quite pleased at the usage of the Reconstruction Machine has been to your favor. Use the space of the Mystery Room as much as you’d like. “Territorial” as I may be, I would much rather have it be used than collect dust. It's really useful and well-used in your hands. The case you regaled to me was quite fascinating.

I will admit that killing for cash is ever so common within circles of the rich and a general motivator for crime. I am glad you caught the woman through very, based on what you told me, astute thinking. I assume Inspector Dartwright did not think of a melting weapon for he tends to have difficulty in seeing beyond the typical spectrum sometimes. It is his greatest weakness. He was always much more practical in his explanations--an invisible murder weapon must have turned his head. Haha. Perhaps he can learn a couple of things from you as much as you are meant to learn from him. 

I'm happy for you, Lucy. You have a bright mind, I can only guess that it's been dulled by Dartwright. Not your fault, my dear. I would be able to do more, if I was out of here. Oh well.

To change topic, one of the nurses here gave me a muffin and I thought of something back when I was still out of rehab. Is the cafe around the corner still open? Jenny's? That place was delightful on my breaks. I used to order her famous Blueberry muffins with her freshly brewed coffee. I must admit, I miss the taste of it. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but it works well. As for her sweets...there was something about them that reminded me of my childhood, when my Dad used to take me out for treats. It’s sentimentality, so perhaps they don’t taste as well as I think, but nevertheless. The wafting smell of the bakery always reminded me of home. I can still remember the smell of walking in during a lunch break, Jenny being there, all cheers and smiles. It drew out the monotony of the day when the machine needed to cool down or if I needed a moment to think of the evidence in a different light. You should try it sometime. Are you allergic to anything? I am, luckily, not.

I do recall you expressing your deep interest of mystery. Do you enjoy anything in particular? I'm quite a fan of Sherlock Holmes. The original, however. Most, if not all, remakes disgust me. They don't quite nail his representation properly--though Sherlock from the BBC was quite a decent mark of closeness of character. I also am a fan to some of the movies that have been made, so I'm not quite a snob as I made my previous sentences sound. I'm much of a reader, if we're admitting things we enjoy. Well, I won't quite hear what you enjoy until after you get this letter. The rehab center doesn't quite have many books, though if I behave well enough, perhaps they'll allow me some.

Haven't quite had the inkling for cocaine for awhile, admittedly. Not since I've been speaking to you. Your presence, albeit far away, is doing wonders.

I must go and end this letter here. I would be remiss if I didn't finish it and allow it to go through the proper channels as to get to you as soon as possible.

Alfendi Layton

P.S. The sunshine was quite lovely. ~~Just like you and your letters.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm...somethin’ is off...


	10. October 24th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you thought the Prof was off during that last letter, well...

Dear Prof,

Oh Prof. I just had...the most eye-opening thing happen this morning. I’m still upset about it.

Commissioner Barton called me into his office this morning. Dartwright complained a little because we needed to work on paperwork--well, I did--but let me go anyway. I kinda laughed to myself at his frustrations. I can see what you mean the more I work alongside him.

Anyway, at first, I thought it was because Commissioner Barton found out that I was going to the Mystery Room without his permission and I was ready to apologize for breaching areas I'm not supposed to be in.

Instead, I found your father and the letter you had for me! Your father, Prof! Professor Layton!

He was hand delivering your letter! I was shocked, to say the least. I've only really ever heard of Professor Layton in the papers, so to see the man was a bit of a surprise. Kind of starstruck, really. Isn't he constantly busy? Solving mysteries and puzzles or something like that? He also had this lanky young man named Luke with him too. I think I've seen him on the papers with your father. I wasn't really sure what to make of it until Professor Layton spoke to me first.

What he asked brought more shock! You know what he asked? He asked me _why_ I was still talking with you and what I was hoping to get out of it. As though you were a business deal! I know he was hidin' behind some sort of gentlemanly conduct and the cuppa in his hands, but I'm 100% sure he was really wary of me and didn't seem to like me at first glance. I responded in earnest that I didn't seek anything-- _you_ sought me, even though it wasn't your original intention and it's polite to answer back, though I'm greatly enjoying our short letters nowadays. :)

He liked that answer, I think, because he made an affirmative humming sound and nodded. Luke told me that they were in the area and found that you had found a pen pal and had a steady stream of conversation going, so they wanted to find out who I was. It was really scary. It was like they were staring at a puzzle--me--and wanted to learn every bit about me and understand every intention. I was sure they had my file from the Commissioner, but I answered as much as I could anyway. From who I was, my education, where I grew up, all of that. It was the craziest kind of ‘meeting the parents for the first time,’ you shoulda seen it. I think he was really trying to figure out if I could smuggle you drugs or anything like that but in a roundabout way that wasn't so obvious. Not that I can anyway, you know my first letter to you said there wouldn't be any, period. 

Then your father told me the bad news. News that I wish _you_ told me instead of him. Actually, no, I wish there wasn’t any bad news to begin with! But...

He went on to tell me that you had found a way to get cocaine from the outside world and into the rehab center. Said you were clever, just like him, and was dismayed despite the fact that we've been talking. But he also said that it made sense as to why you'd get cocaine. Get this, he said that he worries that our correspondence is the reason that you got cocaine, because you wanted to be _presentable_ to me, to be the 'Placid' personality, as he called it. I could tell he was trying to be a gentleman about it, but it still...

I think I kind of lost it there, Prof. Really. I think I was seeing _red_.

You know what I did? I just blinked and stood abruptly, startling the Commissioner so much he almost spilled his cuppa! He's seen my progress in becoming a DC since day one. He knows what I'm like. I'm anything but prone to negative emotions--I'm quite the opposite. I'm not really one to get angry, you know? I think I convey it pretty well in my letters. I'm pretty laid back. I like to smile more than frown, but believe me, I was _really_ upset at what he said. What he was trying to say, at least. Making me seem like I'm the bad person here!

I told your father that I _never_ wanted you to be presentable. I never asked, I never made any indication. I like the snarky man that you are and that your declarations of wanting to cut people's tongues were hardly an issue--daunting, but not enough to make me run away. If anything, I told him, _calmly_ , somehow, that I enjoyed my letters with you. I encouraged you to be yourself. I would never see to it that you needed to be kind to me. That's just how you are cut. If I didn't like that, I'm pretty sure I would have stopped talkin' to ya, Prof. Plus, I added that you were a good person. People just don't know how to handle your personality and that's their loss. 

I even went as far to express that if you felt the need to do drugs to be decent and liked, someone could only really wonder where you got that idea in the first place. 

I'm really upset. I already said that, but the repetition is necessary. The Commissioner let me go after that, luckily. I don't think I would have lasted and I didn't really _want_ to see what reaction Professor Layton had when I kinda made it seem like your drug use was _his_ fault. I went back to Inspector Dartwright and worked on some of the case before he let me go on break, so I'm writing this in the break room by myself with a cuppa. 

Why did you use, Prof? I know you're a recoverin' drug addict, but... I don't want you to use. I know I can't force you, but that's just how I feel about it. I don't wanna lie and say that this is okay because it's not. Really. I don't care what happens when you use and how it 'makes you more approachable' because you're fine just the way you are. 

Write back as soon as you can. Please.

Lucy Baker

P.S. I read what you wrote. I'm 22 years old, for your information. Even I can tell you're on drugs by the way you wrote in that last one. You can't fool me, Prof.


	11. October 26th, 2012

Dear Lucy,

I can tell that my high mind isn't of the most par then if it's too obvious that I'm on cocaine through written text. I used to be able to make it seem like it was my normal personality without much effort. Even after only conversing roughly 10 letters between the two of us, you still managed to figure it out. I suppose my father's appearance made it easier to determine, but nevertheless. I'm impressed and surprised. Very surprised. I'm quite curious on how, if you don't mind regaling that to me.

I will tell you this now that I apologize that I used. Truly. I don't apologize often but...I feel remorse for putting you in that position.

It...it was offered by one of the individuals that are also here with me. I didn’t immediately succumb to it, but after much thought, I believed that perhaps you may like my other side better than who I am now. It was easy to slip into the desire again, even though ~~I know you are expectantly waiting for me.~~ I wasn't necessarily tempted to do so or had any specific need.

My father seems to have neglected to tell you that I overdosed. Had the nurse not found me at that moment, I'm not sure what would have happened.

I don't mean to say that to startle you. I would much rather give you the facts than to prance around lying to you anymore. You seem distressed based on your words in the last letter--something I've never had the pleasure of having. Nobody has ever quite been so distressed to find out I’ve done drugs. Hilda and Justin, yes, but it was more to save themselves from my destruction rather than actual concern. 

I will also admit that I'm surprised you stood up to my father like that. I'm even further surprised that my father even tried to accuse you for the reasons of my usage of cocaine. He doesn't quite know me well—not a surprise. Nevertheless, I suppose I must thank you for defending me in that manner. 

You're quite perceptive to say that last accusation, though. More than I gave you credit for. Specifically, the part where you mention that it leaves little to the imagination to wonder how or why I even got into cocaine to alter my personality if this is how I am seen and treated. You are correct in that manner and I feel that you deserve some notion of truth from that alone. It's the best way I can offer a sense of apology besides saying that I'm remorseful for my actions.

I never quite clicked with my father, not like Luke, the man you saw with my father. Luke was always the star child in his eyes, even though neither of us are Layton's biological children. But I took the Layton name; Luke did not. But the way my father was around that boy? I almost felt like _I_ was the one who hadn't taken the Layton name and Luke had. Where my father is a gentleman, I am an abrasive individual that holds no leash against how I speak, find murder fascinating...the list can go on. Luke was everything my father wanted--sweet, kind, gentlemanly, could make a good cuppa, and follows my father like some loyal puppy.

It didn't help that others around me didn't quite share the same kindness that you do when it comes to how I am wired. Cocaine, my choice drug, allowed me to switch to something I've aptly called Placid. Made me pliant, much more desirable to speak to than who I am now. From what I gathered, others around me liked my personality while I was on cocaine and their kindness was addicting, I will admit. I wanted to be in that state forever. Without the drug, my harsh rebuttals and judgements are on full display and cannot be stopped--which seems strange, considering that I should be more able in my actions _without_ the cocaine.

I know what you are to write to me, that I don't need cocaine to be good, to be liked if I just learned how to be much more sociable and kind.

Well, Lucy, you haven't quite met _me._ Let alone have a single conversation with me on the phone. I am much more intolerable than you may believe based on our letters. I cannot say that I hold myself back, for I do still speak with the same snark that made my father believe we are so different. Writing to you allows me to think of my words rather than letting them out without thinking. That may be why you have this notion that I can be better.

I hope this clarifies any questions that I'm sure you have after meeting my father and saves us the post. 

Alfendi Layton

P.S. Even in my drug addled state, I still would very much like to know the answers to the questions I asked you in the last letter. If you will allow me that luxury of getting to know you.


	12. October 29th, 2012

Dear Prof,

Alright, so I wasn't wrong. Good to know.

I accept your apology, Prof. I can’t really say anything to make you stop because that’s not how the whole addiction thing works. I also won't pretend to know how it feels to want to go back to something like that because I've never been in that position. 

Nevertheless, your honesty is well enough to ease my worries. You had me scared there. Really. You know how hard my heart dropped upon hearing you doing drugs? I don’t even want to write about it anymore, it makes me really uncomfortable. I also don't want to really tell you how I figured out that your drug-addled letter was indeed you on drugs—not that I don't trust you, but I'd rather be safe than sorry, Prof. :(

You said you wanted to know about me and the stuff you talked about? Which, by the way, is something I'm not going to consider a "luxury." Remember, I told you that you deserved to be treated like a human being, regardless of you being in rehab? It'd like to keep it that way. People make mistakes, Prof. You're human. I won't withhold information or stop talking to you because of a mistake. You're learning from it, aren't ya?

Anyway! Back to the topic at hand: I like mystery, you already know that. Sherlock Holmes is a pretty solid choice, but I'm kind of the type to be willing to read anything. But I’m also the type to buy a buncha books but not actually read them...it’s one of my greatest weaknesses. Don’t tell anyone! I used to be really obsessed with collecting books, but collecting books and reading books are two very different things. It took me awhile before I finally told myself, "Lucy, you're being a downright berk if you keep buying these books without thought! Either read them or take a different route home that doesn't have a bookstore en route!" It's safe to say that I did end up reading more than I could chew that year. Still enjoyed it though! Cried and smiled a lot, that's for sure. 

To be honest, any good mystery is fine to me, so long as it's written nice and makes enough sense. I think that's in part to why I like working for the Yard. Constant mysteries come every day, in and out without an answer, all wrapped in a neatly tied bow—well, a case file. Saves me the trouble of buying a lot of books, haha.

Though, I think the first book that got me into mystery was called _The Westing Game_. I read it when I was twelve, I think. It's by Ellen Raskin. Perhaps you've heard of it, where there are pairs that are trying to solve a mystery in order to inherit $200 million and a company. I’ll admit that it vexed me the first time I read it, but I understood it after a second read. I think that's why I really like working at the Yard. I get the same feeling I got back when I first read that book: vexing confusion in the beginning, but immense satisfaction at the end of solving it.

Hmm...Oh! I almost forgot to tell ya. I went to that cafe you talked about and I tried their coffee and muffins. They are to die for! Blimey, Prof, you shoulda seen it. The way the woman's--Jenny--eyes lit up when I explained that I was at your recommendation? (I wear my Scotland Yard badge as clear as day on my hip, so she asked if I knew ya.) She told me that you were her favorite customer! According to her, you didn't hide behind lies and she knew you were the type to tell her if her stuff was rubbish and I heard a lot of recipes went through you before you left. Is that true? I can only imagine how much Jenny was feeding you every break and your mouth stuffed with a muffin. :P

Maybe when I visit you I'll get you some muffins from Jenny's. She said that she misses you a lot, but knows that you're probably occupied. I didn't have the heart to tell her why you've been absent--just said you've been way too busy to come down. 

Hmm...are you allowed visitors yet? I would think that it'd take awhile before they'd let you because of what happened, but I wanna give you some muffins.

What about a phone call? Can you take those or are you restricted as well?

I hope to hear from you soon. Really. I do. 

Lucy Baker

P.S. Keep yourself in the vicinity of someone in this next week or so. I have a surprise! A good one, I promise. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to think Lucy has really pretty writing when she first writes, but then it kind of devolves to a much harder thing to read the more she writes because her mind goes faster than her hand. I feel like that would be her.
> 
> The Prof, I feel, would have pointed handwriting? Like spiky handwriting, pointed but clear.


	13. November 1st, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double upload!
> 
> the chapters will stop coming out every day once I publish the one after this. at the moment of publication, I’ve only written three more chapters ahead of time. that’s on me, I’ve been busy and life has been much more taxing than normal. I should have more out though, just at slower intervals because I’ll be real busy, so to compensate for that ahead of time, here’s this.

Dear Lucy,

I’ve asked one of my supervising nurses if I am allowed a visitor. She was, apparently, shocked that I even exhibited any sort of kindness towards her, as I generally tend to give her biting remarks. Much to my dismay, it appears that my little incident with the cocaine has left me losing privileges I wasn't aware I had. My father, apparently, believes in the strength of these letters and will allow these to continue. It sounds so dreary that I have to succumb to whatever my father wishes, but I have no say in the matter, like I mentioned before. However, in the event that you do eventually visit, I am prepared to taste the flavours you speak of. 

I did ask about the phone call, to which I am indeed allowed. In previous, it appears that I had not, but because now I have someone to call, it has become something I’m allowed. Are you sure that you are prepared to have such a conversation with me, on the phone? The last time I detested someone’s voice, believe me that their tongue did not go unthreatened. It was one Blaine Dartwright, I believe, that I threatened. He was quite appalled, if I recall correctly. Almost tossed his cuppa at me. No, that's a lie. He did throw it at me. Dodged it. Shoddy aim, that Dartwright has.

I do understand your hesitance in regards to telling me the indicators of my drugged state. If Florence was in your position, it would be something she'd be inclined to say as well. I do not blame you. Nevertheless, I will do what I can do disregard the temptations. Your insistence of staying in communication with me has been most telling, Baker. My desire to even attempt to go clean without being forced is even further telling. My father would be sure to praise the individual who put this pen pal system if he found out this development.

If you allow me, I'd like to move past this incident. Will you be so kind as to tell me more about yourself? It somehow irritates me that my father knows more about you in terms of factual evidence rather than myself. I'll return the favor in the next letter.

Alfendi Layton

P.S. I do detest surprises. I just only reread that portion. I'm concerned. What surprises? The last time someone sprang a surprise to me, it did not end well, Lucy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for supporting this story so far. it’s not the best, has plenty of mistakes, and is really boring in comparison to the other two stories on my lap for Lucifendi that I’ve been neglecting...heh. I will see to it that I’ll try to work on it as much as I can, finding a satisfactory ending to it. 
> 
> once again, thank you so much. :)


	14. November 5th, 2012 - Phone Call #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first phone call! Woo! This is much easier than the letters, if I’m being honest...heh. I still have yet to truly get their flow--it still feels slightly unnatural--but when I do, it's over for you lot. :P
> 
> The Prof is in bold  
> Lucy is in italics  
> Florence is in regular text

**"..."**

_"..."_

**"Will I have the pleasure of learning who I'm speaking to or will we waste time breathing idly on the phone? I was in the middle of something and I'm not very keen in it being interrupted if this isn't important."**

_"Ee, is this Alfendi Layton?"_

**"You're calling a rehabilitation center for a specific patient. You lot are all so simple it's simply unacceptable."**

_"Blimey, you didn't lie in your letters when ya said that you were abrasive. Not that I don’t mind it! Just off-puttin' to hear it on the phone rather than reading it on paper. Heh."_

**"...Lucy?"**

_"Surprise! This is the surprise I told ya in the post. Asked Florence for the phone number to your rehab center and here we are! Now I can say that I’ve had a conversation with you on the phone. Can’t use that excuse anymore. And by the way, it's Detective Constable Lucy Baker to you, Prof!"_

**"...I see. What a surprise indeed. I almost thought your surprise would revolve around rescuing me from this revolting place. Also,** **I believe you agreed in ignoring the constructs of formality within the first four letters of our correspondence. Isn't it...yes, it's only noon. Why are you calling during work hours? Please tell me you aren't calling me with Bratwright in the room."**

_"Of course not! Inspector Dartwright is still reviewin' what I wrote in the paperwork and tryin' to find all the errors. Told 'im I was takin' my break, so I'm in the Mystery Room loadin' up a case. He's not much of a talker when he gets into it, so he let me go easy...er...wait..."_

**"What?"**

_"By 'eck, is that what you used to call Inspector Dartwright? Bratwright? Oh my--Ahahaha...Oh my stars. Blimey! Do you think if I pull it from nowhere he'd have steam out of his ears?"_

**"That's almost as lovely as pools of blood, Lucy. I'm almost inclined to tell you to try it, but Bratwright upset can be a challenge to work with atop his mind numbingly stupid self."**

_"Eh...steady on, Prof. It's one thing to see what you write on paper about blood n' all that, it's another to hear it in the timbre of your voice."_

**"I see. Does it bother you?"**

_"...Not really. I kinda expected it, actually."_

**"Hm. Do you have a reason for placing this call? As it seems so far, this call doesn't seem to be much of a social one."**

_"Eh? What makes ya say that? I've asked you a bunch if we could 'ave a phone call! Just had the right timing now. Aye, I'm at work, but who cares? Hmph. Now I almost don't feel bad that I'm eatin' one of Jenny's new cupcakes. Mm...it's real good. Practically to die for...mmm..."_

**"...Lucy, choose your words ever so carefully."**

_"Don't even worry about it, Prof! It's a flavour Flo said ya wouldn't like anyway. Carrot cake!"_

**"You like that flavour? Appalling."**

_"It's good! You just haven't had good carrot cake-flavoured things in the past. This is really good. Jenny really outdid herself with this one. I'll get you one when I visit."_

**"If your judgement in individuals you find interesting to converse with is anything to go off of, I do not think your tastes in flavour can be trusted either."**

_"Oi! I 'appen to have a good palate, thank you very much. Hmph...I read your letter, by the way, last night. Are you actually gonna try to get clean? Truly, properly now?"_

**"Perhaps. I have one particular motivator that has become a need, rather than a want at this point. Perhaps two, if I want to be specific."**

_"And they are?"_

**"The desire to go back into the Yard."**

_"That's a good motivator, Prof! You love the work, based on what you told me so I suppose—"_

**"And...you."**

_"...oh. Prof, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirtin' with me._ _"_

**"..."**

_"Ooooh, are you? I'ma take that silence as a yes, hehe. Blimey, Prof, you know your way to a girl's heart, eh?"_

**"...it is merely fact. I am not flirting with you. You are not learning properly underneath Bratwright's tutelage. It is only fair that I show you how to be a proper DI."**

_"Pah, alright. Whatever you say, Prof. I'm glad you have some motivations to actually attempt gettin' clean. That's what happened with my old friend. He had me and his sister as his motivators, along with everything else rehab doesn't have. Like freedom and the like! You know, he hasn't had a single temptation since then! Now he has a wife and some kids, I think. So I think it's possible for you too. Never too late, I'd say."_

**"...Your cheerfulness drawls even in regular conversation. That’s not very common in most people."**

_"Heh, that's what everyone says about me. I'm not 'most people' am I? I'm a big ball of sunshine and energy, they’d say."_

**"I'm sure it is a common enough compliment. I can practically hear your smile through the wire."**

_"You can't hear smiles through the phone! Hey, er, by the way...is my voice alright to your ears?"_

**“That’s quite the strange question to ask. Unprompted as well. Why do you ask?”**

_"Well, I'm kinda fond of my tongue, Prof. I'd much rather prefer if you didn't cut it out, y'know...?"_

**”Mm...You remembered.”**

_”Course I remembered, Prof! You made it clear with that... Bratwright example. Heh.”_

**”Yes, well, Bratwright has a horrible voice. You have experience from working with the imbecile. It drawls far too long whenever he tries to create a feeble excuse as to why he hasn't solved a certain case...No, admittedly, I quite like the lilt of your voice. You never expressed you were from Yorkshire before in your previous letters.”**

_”Never found the moment to...wait. Now you’re really trying to flirt with me, Prof! First you go on about wantin’ to get clean for me and then now you’re talkin’ about how you like my voice!”_

**”Hmm.”**

_”Hmm?! Is that a ‘hmm’ yes, I am or ‘hmm’ you’re being delusional? I can't quite tell. I can't see you.”_

**”Take it how ever you see fit. You're the one forcing down romantic tropes on my words when they have no meaning. I think you've been in fantasy land for too long, Lucy. Stuffing words in my mouth, as some would say.”**

_”Prof!”_

**”Mm. Perhaps you do want me to court you. You’re very adamant on the matter.”**

_”...I’m not gonna grace that wit an answer Prof. Nowt good will come from that, I’m sure.”_

**”As you wish... my dear.”**

_”Prof! My goodness...stop!”_

**”It’s not my fault. You’ve brought it up twice.”**

_”Aye, I concede to that. But I didn’t ask ya to respond in kind!”_

**”Then you must be clearer with your intent. I doubt you’ll find yourself a partner with such mixed messages.”**

_”...Heh.”_

**”What?”**

_”I still stand by what I said back then. You’re not as bad as everyone says.”_

**”...One phone call and a handful of letters and that’s your assumption already?”**

_”Aye. I believe it. You're sober, talking to me, and you have yet to really threaten me. Properly. You’re pleasant and I bet you’re just hidin' under all that toughness and stuff about cuttin’ tongues. You’re not bad, Prof."_

**"Your faith for a drug addict is ever so strong, Lucy."**

_" Recovering drug addict, Prof. They say the same wit me bein' with Inspector Dartwright. They think it's torture that I still work with him because of the hours we put together in solving crime. I think it's fine, he does most of the work and takes most of the credit. I just help around as he sees fit."_

**"It's not acceptable. They would be correct that you’ve been torturing yourself by working with that insipid fool, Lucy."**

_"Yes, but it's better than nowt, ya know, Prof? Not like you're here to teach me...oh!"_

**"Hmm?"**

_"...er--hey, Flo! Oh, is Inspector Dartwright...oh, okay. Do you wanna talk to the Prof? He's on the phone--ah. Okay! Hey, Prof, Flo's here. I'll lend her my mobile so you can talk to her. I gotta dash. Dartwright's gettin' antsy since I haven't given him his cup of coffee yet. Did you know that man goes through five in one day?"_

**"Mm, still the same as ever. I'm surprised he hasn't evolved to energy drinks for his caffeine fix. Perhaps he doesn't want his brain cells rotting more than they already are."**

_"Don't give me any ideas, Prof. I'll catch you later! Here, Flo! You can give it back later..."_

**"..."**

"...Al."

**"Florence. I take it that you're doing as well as a sick person can be?"**

"Of course--achoo!--I'm fine. 'Prof.' I'm not the one chatting up a woman on the phone."

**"I'm not chatting her up. I will kill you in your sleep if you call me that again."**

"Sure you will, 'Prof.'"

**"For your sake, I will merely overlook that address. Still attached to the IV?"**

"Mm. You've only been gone for more than half a year. My illness will not just magically go away because you off--Achoo!--and got yourself caught with a needle in your arm and blown out pupils."

**"How foolish of me to think of miracles like so."**

"Oh, I still think you believe in miracles. Achoo! Just different ones. Enough preamble, Al. Achoo! Lucy's grown quite fond of you. As it seems you are of her, if that address is enough to go by..."

**"Has she? Her exorbitant amounts of personality certainly must be evidence enough. Her constant correspondence has been entertaining, I will admit to that. I am not, as you put it, 'fond of her.'"**

"I won't try to force you to admit it; you're stubborn mule when you want to be. You know, she's grown to be quite the favorite around here. They ended up liking her though after the Potsby case though. Even Blaine was impressed."

**"She has an impressionable mind. It's not a stretch for them to like her if she's so malleable. They could make her a great employee with the right push."**

"You say that, but she's anything but impressionable. I doubt she told you that they tried erasing that positive mindset she has of you down after she started asking around about you."

**"...Did she get in trouble?"**

"I'm surprised you're concerned."

**"She's my only access to the outside world, Florence. It is by mere luck that she works at the Yard. I don't think I would be as interested if she didn't work at the Yard."**

"I find your stance very hard to believe, Al. Achoo! You're still talking to her and sending letters. You would have given up if it was anyone else. Your nurses wouldn't have forced you to continue if it made you worse rather than better. Achoo! Sniff. The Yard is just an excuse, is it not?"

 **"...Fine. Must you be so** **difficult** **? Of course I'm concerned that they're giving her a hard time because of the mere mention of me. It's unfair for her to receive negative treatment because she's an optimist for a 'recovering' drug addict. My father even tried to dissuade her, but it only boosted her desire in communicating. She's an enigma, that Lucy."**

"Mm...Believe me, I warned her of you as well. She clearly didn't listen and has a bigger tenacity to change you than I originally thought."

**"That's the oddity of it, Florence. She's not even attempting to change me. If anything, she stood up to my father. She likes me without the cocaine. Without Placid in tow...it's jarring."**

"And what am I, chopped liver? Must I remind you who visited you constantly during your first months of rehab?"

**"No, you aren't. And I’m grateful for your company in the past, believe me. But you tolerate me enough because you pity me and my situation. It's not like how she is. She wants to know me. She wants to understand every bit of me because she's truly interested. No offense."**

"Hm. Then don't throw this away, Al. You’re apologizing and minding my emotions. She really must be quite the wonder to create such a change in a few short letters."

**"I have no plans to. If I do, it is not by choice."**

"Not by choice? You tried overdosing on cocaine, damn it! While still in contact with her, might I add. Achoo! Sniff. Do you know how destroyed she was in that week after the Commissioner talked to her? I don't think I've ever seen her in much of a strop until that point."

**"...I wanted to see her reaction. To see if she was just like everyone else in that infernal Yard."**

"Test her reaction? I don’t...good grief...well, was she?"

**"Hardly. Worried, but didn't push the issue. She wants me to change on my own pace and spares me the pity talk."**

"Then you better work hard not to lose her."

**"I know...I know."**

"...I have to go, Al. Achoo! I'll visit with Lucy as soon as time allows and tell her to inform you via more letters. Your infraction has made it harder to allot time. Much harder."

**"Don't remind me. Goodbye, Florence."**

"Goodbye...'Prof.'"

**"Florence--!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know the next time I will be able to work on this full time. My university classes are starting up tomorrow (yay me) and it’ll take up most of my time. I’ll do what I can though! :)


	15. November 7th, 2012

Dear Prof,

I'm writing this at my flat, the day of our conversation on the phone. Did you like it? Would it be kinda off to say that I'm still pretty exhilarated after it? It's kinda fun to have a voice attached to the letters I receive from you now. It...makes it a bit more personal, y'know? Makes it really nice. I really didn't wanna hang up and ask you everything I could, but I know better than to put Inspector... _Bratwright_ in a strop. We finished up a case when he called me--very open and shut, nothing to really regale to ya that might be interesting. But when I do, I'll definitely tell you. I'll also tell you when I put that nickname to good use--believe me, I'll use it at a _good_ time.

Florence was really amused with me when she gave my mobile back. Something about the fact that you were being exceptionally emotional. More than normal, apparently. She says I'm a good influence on ya. Well, I don't know about good influence, but she just mentioned that you sound happier. Are you? I don't have anything to back that up, but I'll take her word for it. She really cares for ya, Prof. I'm sure you care for her just as well.

You said you wanted to know about me, eh? I can probably start with what I told your father--a lot of it's really basic stuff from my past, but it'll be a good start. However! I'll only give you _one_ fact per letter. You have to respond in kind with a fact of your own or else I won't give you any more. That's the condition. If you want them to be specific, just ask, alright or I'll just tell you whatever I told Professor Layton.

Okay. Here's your fact:

I was born on March 20th, 1990 as an only child in Sheffield. I stayed there until I was 12; my father found a better job and moved us into Central London. It was a complete shift, I tell ya, but it was a good one. 

Alright! Fact over. Technically it's three or summat like that, but who's really counting? It would be nice if you offered 'three' facts of your own, but no pressure. It's not really that entertaining, but I don't wanna tell ya my life story so fast. That'd ruin the fun. ;)

I also still don't know why you think me talking to you is surprising. Do you think so little of me? Or well, do you think so little of _yourself_? Because, Prof, I really do, without a doubt, find your presence a wonder. There's no pity attached, I promise--I know from experience that pity will not help an addict. It's probably the best way to make one feel bad and then cause them to relapse, I feel. That's just my opinion though.

To be honest, Prof, you don't just draw away the monotony, you also give me something to look forward to in post. Never before have I felt so happy to see mail in the past--mostly that's associated with bills and other boring things that I'd rather ignore. You'll have to work very hard to get rid of me. :)

Your Pen Pal,  
Lucy Baker

P.S. I was walking home today and passed by a bookstore, immediately seeing something that you may or may not like. I just...thought of you. I don't really know your birthday or if you're allowed to have books, but I hope you like it. Think of it as a...congratulations for making up your mind on wanting to be sober! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm. yeah, I made Lucy a Pisces. hmm. yeah, yeah, astrology yada yada. I'm not the best person to ask for astrology, but I gave it some thought and it felt as though that was the right one. I dunno. obviously I'll be very, ever so wrong the moment that they actually make a birthday for both Lucy and the Prof, but for now, humor me?
> 
> I'm not sure what to make the Prof yet though. My first though is Scorpio, but Libra also sounds very convincing...who knows. I'm just making up birthdays and stuff to make the story go along. hehe.


	16. November 9th, 2012

Dear Lucy,

Your gift...I'm amazed. They took a few hours before giving it to me--apparently making sure you didn't cut out an indentation to hide drugs or something along those lines. Slightly disappointed on the lack of cocaine (this is a joke, Lucy), but nevertheless, _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ on hardback? I...thank you. I'm glad for the refresher on the Arthur Conan Doyle stories. It means a lot to me--the last time I had read them was during my childhood and that was a time I'd much rather forget. Nevertheless, your gift is highly appreciated. I will be reading this extensively while waiting for your next letter to come.

I won't say that I found our conversation on the phone displeasing. It really does serve enough to put a voice to your letters--even reading the one you delivered to me, I can still hear the lilt of your voice. It's...interesting. Your Yorkshire accent isn't necessarily overpowering in your voice, but it's enough to carry on your vocal mannerisms with your inclination to drop the 'h' sound in most of your words or use some slang without thinking. But because your latter life is in London, you don't do it to every single word. Luckily. If you had, I think I would have a difficult time truly understanding you. Probably _would_ have cut that tongue of yours. 

If we were on the phone at the time I first read your last letter, there would be several sighs coming from me. Why am I not surprised that you decided to make my desire for knowledge surrounding you a _game_? It's quite to your character, I will say that. I suppose it's only fair that I return the favor of the three facts that you apparently gave to me, which was interesting enough. 

1) I was born on November 20th, 1982.

2) I don't know my biological parents and have no desire to learn any further.

3) I have one younger sister named Katrielle--also adopted by my father with her own detective agency, the last I heard.

I couldn't think of any interesting facts about myself. I apologize; I spent about twenty minutes thinking before giving up. My life isn't as interesting as it is truly chalked up to be--being the son of Hershel Layton doesn't really bode much in terms of an exciting life despite what it should be. Perhaps you may give me pointed questions about my life. If you get an answer to them is a different story.

I don't think little of you, Lucy. If anything, I think of you to be better than most people in my life. It's...refreshing. To coincide with your explanation about how my letters make your mail interesting, for me, your letters make the time that I pass here bearable. I don't say that lightly either. You also give me something to look forward to than murder. Thinking little of myself is normal--surely you must understand that by now.

Yes, Your Pen Pal,  
Alfendi Layton

P.S. Are we really signing our letters with letter closings? I don't oppose, it's just surprising to see that you didn't just sign your name on the last letter like in the past.

P.P.S. I just came to the realization: you made sure we had a phone call so you could prove that you'd still speak to me after even talking to me through another medium besides writing letters. How clever of you, Baker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I’m considering going through a skip of time passage just because this will get boring, but we’ll see.


	17. November 20th, 2012 - Phone Call #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it is, the first jump. It's not very large, but just think that Lucy and the Prof shared more letters about each other. those facts will fill in when we get into actual scenes--I just don't wanna clog this whole story with a bunch of meaningless letters and well...here's a surprise.
> 
> happy 100 hits. glad y'all still here for the ride.

**"Hello?"**

_"Happy birthday Prof!!!!"_

**"Ah. It's you. Baker, you're way too loud for nine am in the morning."**

_"But it's your birthday, isn’t it?"_

**"I'm well aware of what day it is. I don't need it to be advertised. For everyone else, it's merely Tuesday."**

_"Humph. You don't gotta be a Debbie Downer, Prof. It's your birthday! The big three-zero! Do you have anything planned?"_

**"What, pray tell, do you think I have planned in a rehab center? They won't even allow me the mercy of having visitors."**

_"Well, I'm sure you'll think of summat to keep ya occupied."_

**"Save for the book you gave me, I'm not sure what left I can occupy my time with."**

_"Ee..."_

**"No, Lucy, I'm not going to occupy myself with drugs."**

_"...Good."_

**"..."**

_"..."_

**"Lucy? Is something wrong? Normally you have something to say."**

_"Nothin', Prof. Nothin'. Just thinking of summat important. 'ey, I gotta go real quick."_

**"Why did you call if you were only going to end it so abruptly?"**

_"It's a surprise, Prof!"_

**"Like your other odd surprises?"**

_"Oi! They're not odd! You liked the book, didn't ya? That's just part one of my birthday gifts! You could even count that first phone call as one too."_

**"...Part one? You didn't even know when my birthday was prior to me regaling it to you."**

_"That may be true, but it still can be part one. I really have to go now, Prof."_

**"Go...where?"**

_"I'll tell you later. See you!"_

**"Lucy--"**

* * *

Alfendi glared daggers into the wall as the familiar tone of the phone went through the other end as Lucy ended the call. He let out a low sigh, allowing the phone back into its cradle. He had to admit--this was such a dreary way to celebrate turning thirty, with only Lucy's phone call really bringing any delight, albeit brief. White walls, doctors with smiles that were as irritating as most of the wannabe smooth criminals he had locked up, focus groups that he could hardly enjoy, and the abysmal food?

It was hardly something to celebrate. 

It wasn't that he enjoyed his birthdays--if anything, he could truly care less. Most of them in his childhood were brief--his father was always out and about with Luke, perhaps sending a card while he was away on some puzzle adventure that he couldn't bare to miss. Katrielle was of similar nature, but took their adopted father's long periods of absence to be a gruelling test with only the reward of seeing him again as the only incentive to sit and busy themselves with puzzles. His birthdays as an adult in university or in the Yard were hardly any better--Hilda made sure he at least spent it with _someone_ , but another age really didn't mean anything to him. It was only until he used cocaine on his birthday did he feel _alive_ and actually willing to celebrate it. Safe to say, he made sure he had a good amount of cocaine during those dreadful celebrations after that.

He wasn't sure how long he was standing there, burning holes into the white walls until he heard someone's voice call him. He considered ignoring it before the voice grew insistent.

"Alfendi?" The voice tried again and he snapped his head up to the voice and found warm green eyes looking back at him with an aloof expression. Sam, one of the nurses that he somewhat tolerated. It wasn't that Sam was anything particularly special--he found Alfendi's story unfortunate, but did not seek to offer pity and instead treated him normally. Besides, Sam was the one that made sure all his letters to Lucy got into the post in time. He was an ally Alfendi couldn't bare to lose.

"What?" At the sharpness of his tone, he cleared his throat and tried again, "Yes, Sam?"

"Come on, let's go. You've been starin' into that wall for way too long. You got yourself a visitor." Sam said, motioning for the door. Alfendi raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I wasn't allowed visitors?"

"Well, this visitor of yours has been _very_ persistent. Calling everyday, trying to do anything for it. Doctor Merton gave it some thought and let you after consulting your father. It's your birthday, afterall." Sam shrugged, clasping his hand on Alfendi's shoulder and pushing him forward. Alfendi stumbled at the sudden force. "Come on. We don't want to keep her waiting."

" _Her_?" He already felt the excitement bubbling in his chest, but tampered it down as much as he could force it. It wouldn’t do to be excited—he learned that lesson long ago. Just because it was possible it could be who he thought, it didn’t mean that he should be the type to hope. It could be Florence. It could be his sister (even as uncharacteristic as that may be). It could be anyone, not necessarily the woman he wanted to see face-to-face since the fourth letter. It was one thing to put a voice to the words--it was a whole other thing to put a face to it. He had felt that it would be too forward to request a picture of a woman he only knew for a few months, so he remained in the dark of what his letter sender looked like.

"Oh, yeah. You _know_ her." Sam smiled slyly, saying nothing more and leading him away. Rather than opting for the open area where most visitors and patients were put in, he led Alfendi into his doctor’s office. Sam opened the door, ushering him in. Alfendi opened his mouth to protest, looking to Sam, only to have a warm body pressed against him, hugging him aggressively. He was bombarded with the warm scent of cinnamon and cupcakes and the sight of an orange cap. He let his arms remain awkwardly outward, unsure how to react. He settled for keeping them away from her body and let the woman extrude her affections, even though he was already trembling with anticipation. Sam smirked, turning around and leaving them be with the closing of the door behind him. The body that was holding him let him go, revealing who he could only assume to be the his salvation and sender of the letters—Lucy Baker.

The one person he was desperate to see, yet also ever so dreading it.

” _Lucy_.” He breathed out, mouth agape in surprise. As she had expressed in her letters, her description was apt. A young woman with short ginger hair, red eyes that were somewhat daunting yet all he could see was the way the light made it seem like her eyes were scintillating with small stars. She wore what she had considered in her letters as her ‘signature look;' a grass green coat and white pants, complemented by the Scotland Yard badge that rested on her hip. He was never one to wear his own badge in clear view, but he had to admit, it was a sight for sore eyes. Her appearance wasn't necessarily exactly what he had expected, but nevertheless she was...well, she was Lucy.

”‘ey, Prof!” She winked at him, bringing him back from his examination. “Took me awhile to get this to ‘appen, but here we are. I’m not that good at surprises, eh?”

"How?" He managed to utter, blinking. Lucy poked his cheek, causing an automatic scowl to grace his features. Lucy only laughed, shaking her head as she stepped away. 

"A lot of pestering and a conversation with your father." She explained, grinning as though she had won the lottery. “Flo woulda been ‘ere too, but ah, she had summat to do at the Yard. So it’s just me, I’m afraid.”

“You spoke with my father?” 

“Aye. He was the picture-perfect description of gentlemanly like the last time. Didn't raise his voice at me or anything when I started making demands for ya. He doesn’t hate me for that thing I said. Actually said that it made sense and er...well, I begged him to let me celebrate your birthday with ya since I feared you wouldn't 'ave anyone wit ya today.” She scratched the back of her head, all the elation finally seeping out of her and leaving a deep set look of mirth with a tinge of sheepishness. “So...yeah. Is this a bit creepy? I didn't think about how you'd react. Um...”

"No, no, it's a kind gesture. I'm pleasantly surprised, given the circumstances." He cleared his throat, trying to gain a bit of repose from the rush of delight from seeing someone new that wasn't a medical professional or some other rehab patient. It wouldn't do to scare her away--not like this. Just because they had been scratching the surface of friendship towards each other in the past three or so months did not mean she had any obligation to remain in his favor. If anything, this meeting was his true _first impression._ Everything, much his dismay, rode on this alone. It was a mere unfortunate circumstance that he didn't have any sort of substance to save him. “Though I must say that yes, your skills in regards to making surprises could use some work."

Rather than commenting on his light jab (save for an eye roll), she took him by his dark blue jumper sleeve and led him over to the doctor's desk, which contained two big boxes that Alfendi easily recognized from the bakery he used to frequent back when he still had a title and independence from any substance.

"Jenny's." He uttered quietly, his mouth already watering at the mere prospect of being able to eat such a luxury. “You got me Jenny’s.”

"That's right! Part two of your surprise. Told Jenny that it was your birthday and I needed one of every cupcake she had. Safe to say, she was more than willing." Removing the ribbon, Lucy opened the box to reveal exactly what he expected: an assortment of different cupcakes, some he recognized to some degree and others he did not. Lucy opened the other with equal speed, revealing even more flavours that he had no previous knowledge of. "And no, no drugs in any of them. The folks at the front had to check and everythin’."

"The only drug within this is powdered sugar at best, Baker. One could argue that the ridiculous amount of sucrose within each cupcake could be a drug on its own." He scanned each one, trying to determine what flavours each could be. _Confetti, marble cake, triple chocolate chip, blueberry and raspberry..._

"Ee, Prof, you spout that info, they'll take these away from ya." Lucy sniped, carding a hand through her hair absentmindedly. "Now choose one. I've got one more surprise, if you let me."

"I take it that you've tried every flavour here already?" He inquired, opting to pick up the middle one that had a bit of white cream cheese frosting atop it. At the sight, Lucy giggled and he stopped the cupcake's trip to his mouth, the frosting atop the confection leaving its mark on his nose. "What?"

"Out of all the ones you choose, that's the one you go for? Unbelievable." She reached up close and wiped the frosting off without a second thought, wiping her finger with a tissue. "It's a good cupcake, don't get me wrong. Just ironic given what you told me before."

"What did I tell you?" He racks his brain for any sort of indication but comes up empty.

"That you hated carrot cake.” At the mere mention, he almost dropped the offending cupcake. “Blimey, Prof, it’s _just_ carrot cake. Give it a try.”

"Baker, I really don't think..."

"Try it." She urged, pushing the cupcake into his open mouth before he could protest any longer. The cream cheese frosting hits his tongue first, the mild sweetness--Jenny had her own strange formula that made a normally sweet concoction light in it's saccharine nature--then the carrot flavour afterwards. His initial reaction, had it been any other carrot cake, would have been to spit it out and wash his mouth out. Rather, this carrot cake was soft, fluffy, moist, and more importantly: delicious. Before he even knew it, the entire cupcake was gone, leaving him with an immense desire for more. "Well?"

"I...It was very satisfactory." Lucy cracked a smile at that, grabbing one last box and handing it to him. It was heavier than he initially expected and set it down on the free space of the desk--well, what was left of the free space that didn't have papers or cupcake boxes. "What is this?"

"One final surprise. You're still technically employed by the Yard, even though you're not physically there or necessarily on their payroll at the moment so I thought you might enjoy solving some cases when you get bored of writing to me." Lucy explained, opening the lid. There were stacks of different cases, all in the familiar manila envelopes that they used to be in. He picked one up, flipping through it carefully. Some of these could certainly last him months on end, offering ample amusement as she had mentioned. "I had to ask the Commissioner about this one, though he didn't seem to mind. Cold cases are cold cases, after all. Maybe you'll figure somethin' out."

Silence blanketed the two, with Lucy seeking a sense of approval from him under a tight smile and all he could do was look up and stare back, all the words sucked out of his throat. A large part of him felt as though this was some drug induced dream in his rehab room, that he had somehow found more cocaine and the drug allowed him to imagine Lucy actually _choosing_ to spend her day with him. Perhaps he overdosed again, this time having less luck than last time and was in a coma or even dead. It wouldn't be that bad if it meant having the person of his unbridled thoughts standing in front of him. He closed the box containing the case files and put it down on the floor. She watched him with the same intensity one would expect from a detective--eyes hardly faltering, analyzing every movement as though it could bring some sort of answer.

"Why are you here, Lucy?" His mouth chose to say, causing her to furrow her brow. That wasn't what he wanted to say. Inside, he panicked--she certainly could take that the wrong way. He attempted to mend it, "What I mean to say is that there are other things you could be doing. I'm sure Barton wouldn't approve you skimping off to..." ' _a_ _drug user, a fallen inspector, a failure'_ were among the things what he wanted to say. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and he instead opted for, "To _me_."

"I told you already why I'm here, Prof. I'm here to celebrate your birthday. I already talked to the Commissioner a week before this--there was no trouble at all." She responded softly, lacking any sense of malice that would have been expected from most. If anything, it was the softness of a parent telling their child a hard truth. "You deserve to celebrate your birthday with someone, regardless of where you are."

"But all this effort--"

"Is _deserved_ , Prof." She finished for him, crossing her arms. She certainly wasn't going to let up anymore. "I read up on you, you know. You're a wonderful Detective Chief Inspector; put so many people behind bars. You just hit a bad bump--er, I didn't mean that line." To his surprise and her own, he let out a bark of laughter at that. How ridiculous this whole thing was truly struck him. One good thing finally came to him and he was doubting her sincerity and truth.

"You're not going anywhere, are you?" He finally asked after a beat had passed. The question itself was unnecessary--she had no need to prove herself. What she had done for him was enough to prove she wasn't going anywhere. Nevertheless, he felt this impulsive need to have it said in words, directly rather than in passing in some letter or phone call. She tentatively grabbed his hand into his, eying him carefully. He didn't make any effort to wrench it back, rather finding warmth in the way it felt in his, as though it belonged there.

"Aye, I'm not." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the only reason why the Prof has some weird cupcake thing is because when I was formulating this story, it was my birthday. my mum got this cake from a place called Nothing Bundt Cakes and babbled about how they also sold cupcakes that were also good. safe to say, that little anecdote got placed within this story.
> 
> you can think of how they celebrated the rest of the day. there's a change in their relationship but it's not /there/ yet.


	18. December 10th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something kind of came over me and uh....here we are. this wasn't how I wanted this to go, perhaps give them a few more weeks but...idk. I just woke up at 3 am in the morning amidst a dream and I just started writing.
> 
> this is also a double upload! a bit as an apology for being in and out of it with this story. I hope it's sufficient. :)

Dear Lucy,

Have you ever heard of the concept of solipsism? It is a philosophical concept, to which everything around one's self is created by one's imagination. Anything else is the unknown, the only thing that truly is _known_ is what is around the person. The concept, although odd at first glance, is an interesting notion. I've taken up thinking of our meeting on the day of my birthday as a bit of my imagination playing on me. I know it was no dream; our correspondence that trails back and forth about what Jenny could improve within her cupcakes and the case files within my reach are enough to conclude that it was not my imagination. I must admit though, if everything is of my imagination, including yourself, then perhaps you have been the best thing I've ever come up with. Yes, even cocaine does not match up to your ability to believe in me.

I know you are wondering if I have somehow found my way into cocaine with the sudden speech on solipsism along with such a sappy thought. I have half the mind to cross it all our and scrap it. I haven't taken any substance. What actually came that lead to this thinking is much more embarrassing. I, admittedly, had a dream in regards to our first meeting face-to-face which brought upon this revelation and the first instinct was to scrap my original correspondence I planned to send to you and replace this one.

I will address what we spoke of quickly so I don't sound like I am merely ignoring what you last wrote: my favourite colours are red and blue. I don't like baggy clothes--they tend to make me feel like a slob, but I have no choice in the matter here. I think Bratwright is a moron for refuting your claim--his inability to accept being wrong holds him back. I am suddenly driven to solve this cold case you brought me so you can take the credit. I'll gladly work harder on this particular mind bending case if it is a means to one-up him. It's not a solution, though it's a method, is it not?

Back to the matter at hand: I'm not normally very affectionate, but I feel as though it is safe to regale that you unceremoniously taking up my rude self as a pen pal has become my motivation. We've discussed this on our first phone call, but it has become more apparent with each day I spend in this room, rereading _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ and attempting to crack those cases you've brought to me. I don't want to stay here anymore. My initial claims of sobriety were half-hearted at best, for I knew that it was still possible that I would be tempted to reach out to an old dealer regardless of what I had gained in the process of our association. This time, it feels different, now that I've met you. It's not just letters that are withstanding that show your desire to be my friend. You stood there, held my hand like some fairy. My imagination or not, you didn't want to leave. Your face held no sense of malice of my character and you actively chose to be with me on that day.

I know it sounds childish. You've made your stance clear over and over again, through all modes of communication we have taken up on. It is just a new feeling, one that I have yet to be accustomed to after years of failures from others.

I have never had the need to feel like I must depend on someone as such in a short period. To depend on them as a means of wanting to live, of wanting to be better. It doesn't feel like it should. Our conversations over these months are idle chatter at best, we don't have phone calls on a daily basis, nor have I seen you since that faithful day. Yet I find myself still feeling this way. I've heard your voice and I can't get it out of my head, along with that melodious of a laugh you have. Even the smell of your light perfume is still on the black jumper you hugged me in and I find that I don't even want to wash it until it runs out. All of this, admittedly, is brand new. All of it, Lucy.

One of the staff here and the closest thing to an associate I have, Sam, has constantly has teased me since our first meeting. It took a cupcake to shut him up, though I had every reason to just cut his tongue right then and there. The desire only strengthened when he began to say that we would be a wonderful couple. ~~I don't oppose the matter, but~~ his insistence leaves little to oppose in the first place. 

I'm an unsavory character. You know this. I threaten people (I just did it a few sentences ago), make them uncomfortable, and feel that shooting up is the only way to be liked. I wouldn't be surprised if I said something repugnant and you would stop writing to me altogether. I've been known to do that and I deem it necessary to reiterate to you, regardless of your stances. ~~I would much rather prefer to remove any notion I am feeling now rather than later.~~

I must end this letter at this point and perhaps it may be for the best. One of the other staff members here is telling me to go to bed, so I shall. I want to scrap this letter as well. Reading through it, I find that it's much to sappy for my own taste. The saccharine sweetness is dripping from it and certainly is enough to rival Jenny's sweetest of cupcakes but I don't want to create a third letter to spare myself from revealing what I am thinking. It would do no good, I believe.

Your Recovering Drug User,  
Alfendi Layton

P.S. The demands you made against my father are telling of how well you're able to get what you desire. Within the past few days, those changes have been put into effect. You really requested a larger room, a larger thread count for my sheets, and my own little desk with sufficient stationary. You must remind me to never get on your bad side if this is how efficient you can become when you want something done.


	19. December 14th, 2012

Dear the Sappiest of Men, aka: the Prof,

Your way of professing love is certainly not what I had thought I'd be receiving in the mail today. I was actually expecting you to harass me on how I still continued the whole fact game and managed to ask such boring questions like your favourite colour out of all things. I'll do what you did and get the stuff you said out of the way: I'm not surprised that your favor tighter fitting clothing--loose clothing doesn't do your lanky frame justice. I'm also glad Professor Layton followed up with my requests--I just want you comfortable and preferably not in an abysmal state. That would be poor on my part to not ask for the best for you, hm? As for the Dartwright problem, he realized his mistake after a few hours of brooding. It's really not a bother. I've gotten used to it and in return, he's letting me lead our current investigation without being blunt about it. I want him to learn of how good I am through my own terms, but thanks for the offer for the cold case. I bet you're making some smashing progress. Tell me later, eh? :)

Your letter does leave little for the imagination. You _are_ basically saying you _fancy_ me. You just chose to say it in a more official yet charming sounding way. You do know that's what you're saying, right? I hope I'm not reading it wrong. I read it through and through, thinking that my own mind was playing tricks on me, but it's clearly sounding like it. I even spent a solid couple of minutes trying to figure out what you were scratching out. Something about not being opposed to being in a relationship with me or something? Along with the wanting to remove your notions of fancying me before you got ahead of yourself, it looks like. If I'm wrong in my assumption, I'm sure it would be a bit weird for the both of us. However, if this letter that's sitting next to me is an admission of fancying me, I'm touched.

Well, I'll tell you in an easier and a much shorter way than you did: I like you too, Prof.

I actually told Flo when I first felt that tinge of affection, which was, like you, after our little birthday bash at the center. She warned me, actually. Not unexpected, but she still felt like she needed to do so. Told me exactly all the things you wrote at the last bit, but to be honest? I tuned her out, even with her good intentions behind her words. Truthfully, I thought to sod all of that, Prof. In the past months we've spoken, you haven't been unpleasant, save for that first letter because you didn't even know if you were going to get someone out of it. Sure, you've threatened people, but it's not to me. Plus, the way you were during the birthday thing was fine--better than I thought it would be, really. Like you said, you've never had someone in your life like this, right? At least during your period of hardship. Didn't you mention before that most people in your life kinda left you out after they found out you'd been using? I'm not surprised if you aren't sure what you're feeling or feel the need to repeat the fact that you're...as you put it, 'unsavory' as a person. I'd bet you describing who you are again is your way of trying to repel me one last time because the emotions are a whole other thing, yeah? 

No matter how many times you need me to say it, I'll gladly repeat it: I really care for you, Prof. You've given me more than I really anticipated with this whole pen pal system. I was really only looking for a friend, perhaps someone to regale tales of the Yard with for fun. For someone to write to every once in awhile, perhaps stave off the boredom when there was nothing to do. In you, I've found more than I thought I'd need. It's no easy thing to admit, but it's true. 

Though, I know the next question on your mind is and I will supply you an answer: I don't think it's a good idea to start a relationship while you're still in rehab. I can hear your frown already. Just because we have admitted we both have feelings, a relationship can be a challenging thing to juggle. I'm not going to lecture you like you're a child--you are _older_ than me after all, but I still would feel better if we took it slow. I'm sure if we did get into a relationship so soon with our exchanges, I'd want to see you every day and all, probably having the same thoughts you have with my scent on your jumper or the sound of my voice. Believe me, Prof, it's not easy on my end either.

I guess you could see these letters as a way to court me. You can write to me in a way you'd write someone you liked, but I won't set a label on what we are. I can practically hear your eye roll as you read this, but trust me. We know about each other in facts, but a relationship is something different. I'm a bit difficult in a relationship sometimes--according to my last boyfriend at least. Haha. So, I want to make sure you're the comfortable one here. It'll be better in the long run, trust me.

Anyway, are you going to be celebrating Christmas? I'm afraid I won't be able to spend the holidays with you since I'll be in Sheffield with my family for three days. No surprises this time, unfortunately. I will try a phone call or a visit, if I can get one. I'm not sure if your privileges are still revoked; your birthday was a special occasion so I might not get as lucky. Maybe I can try a phone call on Christmas? We can plan that out later, yeah?

Yours,  
Lucy Baker

P.S. I'm glad you didn't scrap that letter of yours and told me the truth. I'll treasure your letter just like all the other ones.


	20. December 25th, 2012 - Phone Call #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another phone call :)

**"Merry Christmas, my dear."**

_"..."_

**"Baker, I know you're there."**

_"...You knew it was me?"_

**"I have a feeling that's not the question you'd like answered."**

_"Alright, alright, spill, Prof. What's with the brand new address?"_

**"Hm? Oh, you mean the affectionate phrase of my dear, yes?"**

_"Aye."_

**"It seems to be appropriate considering the shift within our relationship, despite the condition of not having the apt labels."**

_"Why do you have to make it sound so clinical? Blimey, Prof..."_

**"Perhaps. It's making you laugh, though, is it not? I hear your giggling...now you're rolling your eyes in exasperation."**

_"Don't tell me you escaped the center and are watching me on a tree with binoculars."_

**"Don't be absurd. It was a mere guess of human reaction. I can hear you shuffling to your window. You know I'm still here.** **"**

_"Mm, okay, either you're a very good hider or you're tellin' da truth. That was a bit creepy, Prof. Though you didn't answer my first question on 'ow ya knew it were me."_

**"Of course I knew, my dear. You were the one who specified the time and day. I merely made sure I was prompt at the phone. Really, Baker, must you be so simple?"**

_"Yes, but..."_

**"What?"**

_"You coulda said 'my dear' to anyone that called, you know. I coulda been late to the phone or summat like that! Imagine, hearing the great Alfendi Layton call someone his dear. Imagine the field day the Yard would ‘ave, eh? Ooh, even your father—"_

**"Watch your mouth, Baker. Don't test my patience. I’ll—"**

_"Har, har, you'll cut my tongue and all. You can't cut tongues on Christmas, Prof! That's not proper!"_

**"...A lot of killers would disagree with you. Crime tends to spike around this time of year."**

_"Only you would know that off the top of your head. How's Christmas at the center, Prof?"_

**"As abysmal as it gets. The sorry simpletons that are stuck here are depressed and have been doing a horrible job at keeping it to themselves. I do appreciate your gift though. Not a first edition, but nevertheless, still enjoyable against the faux displays of cheer."**

_"Aye, well, a thank you wouldn't go amiss!"_

**"I said I appreciated it. I merely expressed an opinion."**

_"Ee, sure. Besides, I could hardly have enough money on my salary to get a first edition. Plus, you can only really read the classic a buncha times before you get bored of it, right? Might as well start you up a little collection while you're there."_

**"Mm, yes well, you should be getting a gift of your own at the Yard. I requested for Sam to get it for me and Florence took it off his hands. Should be in the Mystery Room by the time you get back.”**

_”...You got me a gift?”_

**”Do I have to repeat myself? You know how I despise repetition.”**

_”Eh, of course not. Just surprised is all. You know you didn't 'ave to, you know.”_

**”This holiday is all about gift giving due to societal norms. It’s only fair to return the sentiment.”**

_"Alright, alright. I won't even try to ask. Ta, Prof."_

**"Did you get anything of interest this year?"**

_"My mum bought me a new coat, my father got me a pocket notebook to write all my deductions and notes in. It's quite nice. Oh! We also had a really good feast. I brought some of the cupcakes I bought yesterday from Jenny--good grief, you shoulda seen how many people were in the cafe yesterday. She sold out of everything but had a box just for me prepared! Besides that, we got lotsa different foods, you woulda thought my mum was preparing for the storm even though it was only us three!"  
_

**"It must have been quite entertaining."**

_"Mm, aye. My folks always mean well when it comes to me. I'm their little sunshine, they used to say...oh! I talked about you too, you know. To them, I mean. Yesterday, though, when me mum asked me if I was seeing someone over dinner like she always does whenever she sees me."_

**”...And what did you tell her?”**

_”That I may or may not be interested in my rehab pen pal.”_

**"You weren't afraid to talk about your dealings with a drug user in rehab? It's not the best conversation to have, is it not?"**

_"You make it sound like I'm your drug dealer!"_

**"If you deal in serotonin, then perhaps you could be considered one."**

_"Heh, I bet you tell that to all the girls you meet."_

**"As if I'd meet people that could stand me without professional pretenses. You didn't answer the question, Baker."**

_"Well, remember that friend I told ya about? Aye, well, she knows all too well the whole rehab schtick too because of him. She thinks it's amusing that I'm in kahoots with ya considering."_

**"Do I want to know why?"**

_"Well, that old friend was my first and only boyfriend in secondary school. We 'ad a bit of a mutual agreement that we weren't gonna last after secondary, so we split but stayed in touch as friends. He went down the destructive path, but I already told ya that he got clean.”  
_

**"Ah..."**

_"Don't sound all down, Prof. He's just a friend now. He’s moved on and so have I. Remember, I told ya that he has a wife and kids.”_

**”So, you make it a habit of falling for broken people.”**

_”Ee, Prof, neither of you are broken. Nowt like that. Just on tha wrong path—perfectly acceptable.”_

**”Ever such the simplistic individual, Baker, I’m disappointed. Drawing on the positivity of the common folk when talking to a drug addict.”**

_”Oi, I can hang up right now and say nothing else if you’re not gonna be nice to me.”_

**”You wouldn’t dare."**

_”Mm..."_

**"Baker."**

_"Just because it’s Christmas, I won’t."_

**"..."**

_"Blimey, it's like you'd thought I were goin' to leave you. You can't get rid of me that easily."_

**"It wouldn't quite matter if you hung up or not. It wouldn't be different to when I was out of rehab."**

_"What do ya mean?"_

**"Do you honestly believe that I had company during these holidays with my personality?"**

_"I have a feelin' you're gonna tell me."_

**"The way I handled events such as Christmas and Boxing Day always consisted of nights of silence or sheer disappointment. They were** **increasingly irritating affairs with every year that passed. As a child, they were probability games in seeing if my father would come home that time or if another puzzle would take him away again. As an adult, they were sordid hours of parties that I had no desire in being a part of. Admittedly, I still went to every single one during my time at the Yard."**

_"On drugs?"_

**"Not at first, though when I did, it changed everything. It made it all so tolerable and I wouldn't have to go through the motions. Placid would indulge in the festivities, being amicable to whoever came his way."**

_"See, there's that name again. Placid. What's...er...he like?"_

**"Placid. Yes, it is his aptly put name. He is Placid when I am the complete opposite."**

_"You're placid now too though, Prof. Hardly volatile, yeah?"_

**"You spoke to him, by any capacity, through one of our letters. It shouldn't be hard to see as to why we are different, at least on some superfluous manner."**

_"Aye, I did, but I wanna hear what you think of 'im. And why do you talk as though he's someone else?"_

**"It became quite clear which one the Yard preferred. It was only a matter of time before it was the only state I ever wanted to be in...though, yes,** **I do talk to him as though he is a different person because he's not me. He walks in my shoes, talks in my voice, and wears my clothes whenever I shoot up. Once the high goes down, he retreats away and I'm in control again."**

_"Like takin' turns, innit?"_

**"Yes, that may be the best way to put it. If there is a day where you meet him again in letter form or otherwise, I will have failed you, my dear Baker."**

_"Don't say that, Prof. You wouldn't've failed me. You would be dealing with the ups and downs of addiction."_

**"Semantics. As a byproduct of dealing with, as you say, the 'ups and downs of addiction,' I would have failed you anyway."**

_"Then try to not get yourself in that situation, eh? We'll deal with it as we go along--agh!"_

**"What was that noise?"**

_"Oh, I wasn't lookin' and I 'it my hip on the drawer. Ah, it smarts. I don't understand why my mum thinks the hallway needs this drawer. I'm always bumpin' into it."_

**"Perhaps you shouldn't be walking around while speaking. Your clumsy nature will make it difficult to do two things at once."**

_"'ey, it's just a bump! It's not like I'm also carrying summat fragile. Heh, maybe if you kiss my hip, the pain will go away."_

**"..."**

_"Oi, did I break you?"_

**"I find that this conversation has taken a strange turn."**

_"Too forward?"_

**"Perhaps. Though, I will resign towards the fact that I started it with a personal address."**

_"Aye...oh! I'm being called by my mum. Probably expecting me to be down already. Do you mind if I end this call?"_

**"It isn't as though I have much of a choice if you have prior engagements."**

_"Of course you have a choice. I'd just stay up here a little longer, I"m sure she can wait on whatever it is. Probably help on the finishing touches of her homemade marmalade."_

**"No, it's fine. Do whatever useless traditions you have in place for today, as it does only come once a year."**

_"I'll write soon, Prof. Don't be so upset..."_

**"I'm not upset. Stop giggling."**

_"I thought you liked my giggling!"_

**"No, I don't."**

_"How about if I call again later? Would you be less upset?"_

**"...I would be amenable to it."**

_"Riiiight. Well, I'll call ya later, Prof."_

**"Indeed. Goodbye, Lucy."**

_"Goodbye. my dear Prof."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a bit awkward with the phone calls--they somehow suddenly feel harder to portray, but hey, it's a struggle. Haha.
> 
> I have a very rough outline on how I want this story to go, but I'm still thinking...
> 
> Would you believe if I said I have a royalty AU in the works even though I haven't finished this story and three others? Man, I'm good at starting but never finishing stories. Sigh.


	21. January 11th, 2013 - Phone Call #3.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, a phone call between Lucy and Professor Layton. I'm sorry if I don't quite convey him well--honestly, I've only ever encountered Professor Layton in two games that I've played (Phoenix Wright vs Professor Layton + Professor Layton and the Curious Village so...yeah haha)
> 
> Bold is Professor Layton  
> Italics is Lucy

_"Hello?"_

**"I do pardon if I am intruding, but are you able to spare some time for conversation, Miss Baker? I understand that it's work hours, but it's a matter that can wait no longer."**

_"Ee, sure, I'm on my break so I can spare some time. Though uh, who is this?"_

**"Ah, my sincerest apologies for not introducing myself in the beginning. It's Alfendi's father."**

_"Oh, Professor Layton! Sorry, I didn't recognize your voice at first 'ear, sir. Hi! What can I do for you? Is it about Alfendi? Did he do something bad again? Cor, blimey, I told 'im--"_

**"Please don't fret, Miss Baker. I can assure you that my son has not delved back into the devil's substance nor has he disrupted his therapy any longer. Rather, his recovery desire have suddenly doubled in effort after your correspondence with him."**

_"Well, that's good to hear. He doesn't really tell me much about his recovery, in all honesty...but this isn't about that, is it?"_

**"Very astute of you, Miss Baker. No, you are right. I haven't called to talk about his health, as bustling as it is. Instead, I have come under the pretense of discussing new developments between you and my son."**

_"Er, I'm not sure I follow, Professor."_

**"Hmm. I believe that it would be better if I fared directly to the point of my call rather than sidestepping the isssue. You see, I have learned that you and my son have delved into a...new territory with your correspondence."**

_"Ee, that's right. Who told you that, Professor?"_

**"How I know is hardly important. I would like to discuss with you of your intentions with him."**

_"My intentions, sir?"_

**"Let's not beat around the bush, my dear. You would like to delve into a romantic relationship with my son, is that correct?"**

_"...Aye, that's true. But I don't have any intentions other than seeing him well so far, sir. If you're worried that I will hurt him--"_

**"My dear, my worries are not founded on him, but rather for you and your wellbeing."**

_"For me, sir? Why?"_

**"Yes, for you, my dear. As you know, my son has used cocaine for the past four years, only being forced clean through my intervention. It came to my knowledge at a time that would have been considered too late."**

_"Aye, that's right. I know that he took it because he didn't feel like he was ready socially, even though he is brilliant and hardly someone that I'd think would--"_

**"Indeed, Miss Baker, that is correct."**

_"Ee, then..."_

**"I would be remiss if I didn't indulge you in what those four years entailed, considering that you will be a part of his life in a more _intimate_ matter. Those four years consisted of many--"**

_"No, no, Professor, I apologize for interruptin', but I don't want to 'ear it. I'm not trying to be rude or erm, naïve in my faith, but I want to keep the Pro--I mean, Alfendi's trust. 'e'll tell me what happened in those four years if 'e really wants to."_

**"You must understand, my dear, I am not trying to go behind my son's back. I'm only attempting to save you from the worst of my boy. I cannot allow you to come into his life and subsequently demolish what little I have managed to salvage after his fall from grace--"**

_"Professor Layton, wait, wait. 'old on. I really appreciate what you're tryin' to do to protect me. Really, I do, but I know what I'm getting myself into. I'm not going to let 'im go, sir. I care for Alfendi and that care has grown wit' each letter, phone call, and visit. I am willing to take the role of whatever he sees fit. I understand that you're worried that I'm going to be like everyone else in his life where I leave him when he goes wonky."_

**"And will you?"**

_"Honestly, sir? I don't know. I don't wanna make empty promises or summat, which is what you're worried about, right? You worry that I'll take him for granted and that I'll leave him just like all the rest of 'is friends because I won't be able to handle 'im anymore. I can tell you know that it won't happen if I can prevent it."_

**"Your loyalty is quite astounding, my dear. I can see why my son chose you to write to."**

_"Aye, well, that's where you're wrong. He didn't choose me. Some random choice in the pen pal system led me to him, even as he didn't even want to do the whole pen pal thing in the first place. I...I'm not the first one in his life, Professor. I am, however, one of the only few that seems to believe in him wholeheartedly, without fail. I don't know my position in his life necessarily, sir, but...I know enough that I'm willing to be whatever he wants me to be, within reason. At the moment, I'm his pen pal turned romantic pen pal, perhaps a lover. I have no plans in breaking his heart, even if he breaks mine, sir. I willingly allowed myself to respond at that first letter, knowing I would be speaking to a former drug addict. I won't just drop him because his personality is too much._

_"And I know his continued drug use comes from him worrying about his social standing. Sure, he has an affinity for dead bodies and murder and cutting tongues as a joke but...beneath all of that, sir? There's a different man. One that doesn't need to keep using drugs to be some societal expectation of normal because he already is...just with some eccentric interests. If that was enough to scare me, I don't think I would have responded to his letters any further, sir. The problems of his past...they aren't mine. The problems of his future...we'll just have to work on them together."_

**"..."**

_"...Professor?"_

**"...I apologize."**

_"Ee...what?"_

**"My assumptions of your character are completely unfounded. They have been built from my fears for my son ever since I became estranged to him. As a father, I have failed him beyond relief, as you insinuated in the past. After that conversation, I realized that I truly have. I could not solve him, no matter how much I attempted and much to my future dismay, eventually I gave up on him. There is no amount of rehab that I shoulder in monetary cost that will allow me to beg for his forgiveness. In turn, I am seeking yours. For the very least, an apology for how I have made a poor deduction of your intentions. I see that now."**

_"Ta, Professor, but you don't need to apologize to me. I know that yer just trying to 'elp. We all have the same goal for Alfendi."_

**"That may be true, but I will offer my apologies anyway. I must also say..."**

_"Yes?"_

**"It is true that my son has been doing wonderfully in rehab. They estimate that he could be released on a recovery plan in the next two months, if it all goes well. He is no longer ignoring the help offered to him and has been actively participating without qualm, showing signs of moderate recovery, even with the stint he pulled earlier."**

_"Oh that's...that's good to hear and gives me time to plan..."_

**"He still has his career at the Yard and will be coming back to it once he is cleared to return, as you may or may not know. Lucy, my dear, would it be overstepping for me to ask for a mere favour?"**

_"Er, what is it?"  
_

**"Watch my boy. Whatever remains of the future between you and my son is not my business, but you have proven to be the best equipped in doing so. Once he is released from rehab, he won't seek me. He will seek you. For that, I ask that you will be there for him. I can make it easy by requesting for you to be removed from your current mentor's employ and into his, but that is something we can decide on later."**

_"You don't even have to ask, sir. I'll do my best."_

**"Of course. We will be in touch, Miss Baker."**

_"Aye. Goodbye, Professor."_

**"Goodbye, my dear."**


	22. January 18th, 2013

Dear Lucy,

I have news that I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear--they've given me a date of release: March 23rd, if all goes well.

It is, unfortunately, after your birthday, but perhaps you could consider it as a belated birthday gift. I don't doubt that my expedited release date has something to do with my sudden alacrity to actually attempt recovery, but Sam expressed to me that it was in part due to my father and your meddling as well. Conspiring with him, I see. You wound me, Baker. I've been tolerating this particular insipid mare in the therapy group, who has been bemoaning all of her problems outside of the center and you go behind my back and betray me with my father? Believe me, if I had no motivation to get out of here, I think I would have strangled her already with the amount of times she relays her same damn story. Even Bratwright's shallow insults towards me would be welcome, truly.

In the group today, we spoke of our motivators of getting sober and what it meant for all of us, since everyone here chooses to be here (mostly). I've tried to leave prematurely in the past, but my father always threw me back in since he has Barton and the whole Yard to utilize and managed to catch me every time. Never bothered escaping after that. That woman spoke of a child that was being cared for by her estranged husband, another of a career that he never got because his university days were plagued with the drug, and one more who expressed something about proving her family wrong. When it came to me, I was impressed at how easily I managed to relay the story of our correspondence and how that has become my new motivator. 

If they had asked me prior to our letters, my answer would have probably been my career at the Yard and to see all of the innovative murders out there. That was my life, Baker. Murders, cocaine, and the Mystery Room. Sam smiled at me when I admitted my motivator and probably feels a sense of pride that he was the one who forced me to write that first 'Dear Whoever' to you. I scowled back but I have conceded to his victory here.

Everything has changed now.

I see no shame in telling you that I've never felt so...excited for something and that, much to my surprise, includes the times I've searched for my next fix. This rehab center is the very definition of a torturous hell for addicts like me, particularly during the first weeks. Every day, even during the lights out period back then, all I could think of was reaching for another needle. Six months, Lucy, of bags of white powder and a needle in every waking thought even as I trembled and had all the typical withdrawal symptoms. The itch is still present and will be for awhile but...there are other things on my mind now that I would have never thought of four years ago or perhaps ever.

The night nurse is calling for lights out, so I must cut this letter shorter than I would like if I want it sent to you in time. I await your next letter or phone call, whichever comes first.

Yours,  
Alfendi Layton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have an end envisioned in this story but it's really slow coming...I hope you can tolerate it.


	23. January 22nd, 2013

Dear Prof,

Oi, you know the reason why I'm talking to your father is for your own good and not because I'm in kahoots with him in any other way. I may be your motivator (which is really sweet of you to say) but he's the one who has all the power with your rehab situation and I can only prod him here and there when I talk to him. It's like you said in that one letter, when I want something, I get it done. That hasn't changed, Prof! Nowt to it. If you're gonna be ungrateful, maybe I should tell your father to remove the request for a larger room for you to sleep in. You know I can. :P

I don't mind that you can't come on the day of my birthday; I didn't even think you'd get out any time soon, so it's not like I have any proper plans to accommodate you along. I'll be working anyway—it's on a Wednesday and it's not like I have much to do outside of work. I think Blaine is trying to get a couple of the other Yarders that I'm acquainted with out for drinks or a karaoke night, but I'm not much for stuff like that. I'll probably still go since they've planned it around me but I'm the type to enjoy a nice crime or existential novel, curled up under the covers and all. I'm only turning 23, there's really nowt to it—it's just another nice year and a reminder that I went through a whole 365 days. 

I'm really excited for you to be out and about and I am buzzing in anticipation, just like you are. It's the same rush feeling that I get when I'm accusing the correct suspect when I'm interrogating them. I think you know what that's like, the sensation when you've caught the right piece of clue, taking them down and are able to do right by any victims that were hurt by them. I guess that's adrenaline or some other chemical in the human body that I probably can't pronounce or write without consulting Google—I was always shoddy at Chemistry, so I'm not even sure if I'm right with the whole adrenaline thing, but oh well. 

Anyway! I've been thinking. Well, I always think, but this is summat different. 

Since you haven't been out of that facility except for the gated back, what's the first thing that you want to do when you get out, Prof? The 23rd is a Saturday and I know I don't need to be at the Yard that day, so maybe we can go and explore? It's not like London has changed in the last year though—just more people and the same old cold weather. Suppose the Yard's new Forensic lab would be something new, but I can't really think of anything else...besides Jenny's, at least. Oh! That's right, I forgot to tell you when she made this new flavour in December! It's a bit on the weird side, honestly, but...get this, she made _orange creamsicle_ cupcakes. I don't know how to feel about that particular flavour, considering that it's meant to be in a frozen kind instead of a baked one but I'm open to trying it with you, if you want to. That's just an idea, we don't have to do it but I'm sure Jenny would love to see you again.

We can collaborate about it in our letters! Or maybe another phone call, soon! We'll see what happens. yeah?

Yours,  
Lucy Baker

P.S. Steady on with the focus group, Prof. You know that it's meant to help you. It'll be over before you know it and you won't have to hear the same story from that lady. No strangling! Not now, not ever! She's going through her problems just like you are; that is the whole point of those groups, innit? To work through the addiction? Just trudge on, Prof. You've got this. :)

P.P.S. Remind me to thank Sam with all the gratitude I can give him if he's the reason why this all began. It's made both of our lives different and exciting. It's only fair that he gets thanked for what he did for us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, there's still more conflict to arise. Cupcakes and sunshine ain't gonna last.


	24. January 29th, 2013 - Part 1

The first thing Alfendi felt was the distinct cold metal that wrapped around his wrists as he woke, his arms above his head. He blinked blearily, attempting to bring his hands towards his eyes as a reflex, but they were chained to the bed. Upon slight movement, he realized that so were his legs, rendering him practically immobile and pulled like a starfish. His eyes widened and he struggled, the metal of the handcuffs clanging with the metal of the bed, but it was no use. 

"Good morning, Mr. Layton! I'm glad to see you awake. Did you know that you snore?" A shrill, akin to the grating, high-pitched voice of a school girl with a slight and incredibly faint Scottish lilt within her voice, just enough to be obvious. Alfendi jerked his head over to the voice, finding a young woman in the metal chair he used when he sat down to write his letters, her petite figure wearing a purple set of scrubs with a badge clipped to the pocket that he recognized as Sam's. Her blonde hair bounced as moved her head like a metronome, hands tapping on the chair idly with latex gloves. "Honestly, for the amount of money your father puts into this facility for your stupid recovery, I can't believe how easy it is to get in. I suppose rehab isn't meant to be hard to get in or out of, but still. Security was a breeze!"

"Who the hell are you?" Alfendi barked and the woman laughed, as though she had heard a joke that only she was privy to. Alfendi scowled.

"Mm, that is a good question! Who am I? Let's just say that I'm someone you've wronged horribly...not me directly per se, but nevertheless. It's all semantics at the end of the day." Her voice dropped slightly as she reached behind her, grabbing one of Lucy's letters—the most recent one, based on the colour of the stationary the letter was written in. Alfendi twitched, attempting to pull slightly at his binds to no avail. That only seemed to spur the woman, who stood up and came close, just enough for him to smell the slight aroma of lavender perfume. "I'm impressed, Mr. Layton. Really, I am. You've finally started some sort of recovery after months of sitting here idly. Does it have to do with Ms. Baker, I wonder?"

"Don't you bring her into this." He responded through gritted teeth. Heaven forbid something happen to her; he'd never forgive himself then.

"You know," the woman continued speaking as though he hadn't uttered a single syllable, "Lucy Baker is quite the impressive Detective Constable. She could take your position, honestly, if that little...mm, what do you call him? Bratwright? Yes, if his ego and pride wasn't as long as his hair, perhaps she'd be rising the ranks ever so quickly. Or rather...if Barton wasn't such a softie for you and your father, she could be a DI now. Even kept that pesky Mystery Room of yours wide open, ready to take you back in so easily." She rolled her eyes at that, peering down at the letter in her hands with thinly veiled disdain. "I've been waiting for you to wake up and your room is soooo _boring_. I had only these letters to read to occupy my time and they're such fodder for romance, it's _sickening_."

"What the hell do you want? Obviously, you're here for some reason. You have Sam's badge—couldn't have gotten that without hurting him." He pointed out, vaguely recognizing the tightening fear of concern. He'd never felt that way for another person (besides Lucy, that is), being _concerned_ for their well-being. He pushed it back for now, eyes narrowing into slits as he glared at her. "What have you done?"

"Glad to see your detective reasoning hasn't dulled from the cocaine and lack of use, Inspector." The woman smirked, tossing the letter back onto the desk. "Mm, what have I done? Plenty, truthfully. Murders, drug trafficking, burglaries...hmm...plenty enough for my CV, don't you think?"

"You know what I mean." He bit out, clenching his fists. If he broke the bones in his hands the right way, perhaps he could slip out of these handcuffs, but at what cost? This woman couldn't have come alone and even if he managed to get a punch in, she probably didn't come empty handed either. The woman let out a exasperated huff, rolling her eyes.

"Gosh, you're no _fun!_ You're just like my late father, even on his drunk days! All business, all murder and money collection and no play!" She pouted, which quickly morphed into something more sinister with the flip of a switch. A playful sinister, the type you'd see from an individual who felt as though they were above all and could do whatever they wished. "Ah, it doesn't really matter, Mr. Layton. I'm here to give you a choice."

"And if I refuse to join your game?" 

"Come on, _Prof._ Humour me. It's not like you'll be going anywhere soon." Without waiting for an answer or a retort, she tossed the letter back onto the desk and pulled a small bag that was the the size of a 50p coin, a metal spoon, lighter, and a fresh needle out of her pockets. His eyes trained straight to the bag, the itch he thought he had suppressed since the last time he had used in the facility coming back to him like a lorry hitting his body at sixty miles an hour. He blinked, managing to wrench his eyes back to the woman's maroon ones, but it was too late. She saw the briefest tinge of desire in his look. "Ah, the siren call of old habits, hm? Is the sauce truly that tempting?"

"What, you're going to put that in me and then I'll be stuck here longer?" He pointedly ignored her question, shame bubbling within his chest. He wasn't going to get that needle anywhere near him if he could help it.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Layton! Don't be so pedestrian, it really doesn't work for your character. No, no, that's too easy." She strolled back to the desk, placing the paraphernalia down onto the surface with care and turned back to him with her heel, smiling as though the day was bright and wonderful. "If I wanted to do that, there would be no need to do all this effort! No, I'm giving you a choice. You can take it or not. That's all."

"That's _all?_ " He repeated and she rolled her eyes once more, as though she was an instructor teaching a moron a language from scratch.

"For that, yes. I can't wait to see what decision you make, Mr. Layton. I wonder if you'll surprise me." She dug into her pocket once more, pulling out a vial with a watered down, milky white substance inside and another needle. He recognized it from a previous case—propofol. Almost immediate in effect and partial memory loss, used usually as an anesthetic for surgery. The woman hummed, pulling the protective cover off and sticking the needle into the vial. "Did you know, they call propofol the 'milk of amnesia?' A play on the milk of magnesia, how very amusing. Scientists are so quirky with their little titles..." 

Once she was satisfied with the amount she pulled from the vial—which seemed to be almost the whole thing—she grabbed onto his sleeve, pulling it up as much as she was able. Alfendi tried to pull away with a renewed vigor and the woman sighed, exasperated at his attempts.

"It would be easier if you just laid still, it's not pleasant for a needle to be stuck in your arm while you're stressed. I'm sure you know that. It's either this or my friend outside knocks you out with a jab to the face. I think we know which one you prefer, hm? We wouldn't want Ms. Baker to see you all roughed up...or maybe she's into that? Who really knows..." Without any further preamble, the woman held onto his arm with an iron grip, jabbing the needle into a vein and pushed down the plunger quickly. He winced at the intrusion, glaring daggers at the woman. She pulled away and smiled, her lips turned up slightly. 

"What have I done to incur your wrath? You wouldn't go through all the trouble if I didn't do anything to you." He asked, already feeling the effects of the drug pouring into his system, consciousness suddenly being hard to grasp. If he remembered correctly, propofol was meant for IV use, not a direct injection without antiseptic and other intents besides for surgery.

"You're the detective, you tell me, Inspector. I'm sure it's easy enough, yes?" Her eyes twinkled in the light as she waited for him to take a stab at it.

"I put someone close to you in jail." He attempted and she shook her head, the finer details of her appearance turning blurry as he struggled to remain conscious.

"Mm, jail would be a mercy for him, but no. You killed him in cold blood, Mr. Layton. After everything he did for you. My dear old Daddy is dead...and now I'm going to kill you. In a much more creative way than a bullet to the chest. A quick death would be too easy." Alfendi frowned at that, despite his rapidly altered state of mind. He had never put a bullet into someone, not to his express knowledge. He carried a gun, yes, back during his time at the Yard, but never needed to properly fire it. Most criminals weren't stupid enough to. Was she mistaking him for someone else?

"What...are you going...to do?" He voice slurred, blinking slowly. No matter how much he tried, consciousness was evading him more and more with every second. The woman pursed her lips, considering her answer before stepping forward once more to his rapidly relaxing figure.

"You'll see, Mr. Layton. You'll see..." She tapped him on the nose, her smile the last thing he saw as the darkness swallowed him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I can faintly imagine Diane with a slight Scottish accent. I don't know why it came to me that way, but here it is. I almost gave her an Irish one, but I changed my mind, haha.


	25. January 29th, 2013 - Part 2

The first thing Alfendi felt when he rose from his second sleep of the day was just how well-rested he felt—which wasn't abnormal per se, especially after Lucy—if it hadn't been for the fact that he felt he was missing something in his memory, something important. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and his wrists mewled in protest and he frowned. He hadn't done anything to cause them to burn, but by the way that his skin had broke from some sort of resistance—which looked awfully like handcuff marks—made him pause. The last time he had been in handcuffs, he had been coming down from a high that led to his admittance to rehab. Certainly the center, in the year he had been here never did anything like that or else there would be very questionable practices happening here. So why...?

WIth the movements that could rival a sloth, he managed to sit up, feeling the same burn coming from his ankles. Alfendi frowned, trying to piece the time period between his last hour of wakefulness to now. Something happened here, something that was on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't quite determine. He rubbed at the chafed areas absentmindedly, his eyes slowly trailing to the desk and chair that had been moved, ever so slightly. Something was different—oh.

Alfendi scrambled up to the desk, determining whether or not his eyes deceived him, but it was clear as day. Just like the last time, a carefully placed bag of cocaine and other paraphernalia laid in front of him, except it was on his desk rather than his pillow. This time, however, there was a note in perfect cursive and Sam's badge right next to it:

**_Your choice! ~DM_ **

DM. Someone, with those initials, had given him the cocaine—offering him a choice. Certainly Sam wouldn't have given it to him and placed his badge there too—incredibly improbable, even. It was much more likely that the person that had placed this down during his sleep had used the badge to get into some of the areas of the center. His hands trembled as his fingers came close to the bag, then paused in his venture as the Inspector side of him came to play. This, above all, was still evidence. Alfendi slowly made his way to the other side of the room, increasing the distance from the substance and himself. He couldn't touch it—shouldn't touch it.

Well, that's what he could tell himself.

Alfendi knew he wasn't immune the siren's call of the drug. He never claimed that he was; he'd have to be stupid to think that he could be, especially with how much he associated the drug with the ability to retain pleasant human interaction. How could he not? The mere edge of longing, tightening around his body like a coil, was electrifying, even now with so much progress behind him. On an intellectual level, he knew how stupid it was to sustain such a habit back when it first began as a small taste. Besides that, it would ruin the smallest bit of progress he had made since the last time. Of course, it's not he's had any particular chance in getting the drug again, but he had lost the urge ever since he overdosed several months ago. There was no trembling desire since then, which his doctor saw as progress.

Of course, the obvious, logical pathway was to not do so.

But it was _there._

Tantalizingly close, mere metres away; a distance he could close if he just took a few more steps forward rather than denying himself such a pleasure. Nobody would know. He'd hidden his cocaine usage in the past before—the only reason why he failed last time was because he was found on the precipice of living and dying after an accidental overdose. Of course, the withdrawal symptoms would make it much more challenging to hide, but it wouldn't be that difficult to do so. Trembling? He could say that it was cold. Loss of appetite? He wasn't hungry—his lanky would make that even more believable. Dilated pupils? He could say that he was just aroused, and certainly that line of questioning would halt after that; he could claim that the reaction came because he was thinking of—

_Lucy._

His eyes slowly slotted towards the haphazardly tossed letter he had read last night—certainly not where it was back then, so that meant the intruder touched it too. He wrinkled his nose, frowning at that very concept, tempted to move it back to the way it was but left it as it was. Evidence, he reminded himself, of multiple things. It wasn't just further evidence he hadn't procured the drug from somewhere else, but it was evidence of Lucy Baker's care and love for him.

What would Lucy say, if he chose to go back to his old habits? What would she think or do? She hadn't been fooled when he first did the cocaine under the guise of testing her in that letter, nor was his previous drug use a deterrent for her to stop talking to him. It was, as the mysterious DM said, his choice. One moment of ecstasy; a moment of nirvana that ran his life for four years but in return, he would lose a possible lifetime of something more, something irrevocably irreplaceable. Cocaine, he could get that off the streets at any given moment with the right dealer and enough motivation. But the other prize, the very reason he was actually living rather than going through the motions was no doubt at the Yard, perhaps watching her mentor down his seventh cup of coffee. Perhaps she thought of him, wondering what the next letter would entail.

Lucy Baker.

It would be a month and a half-before he'd see her again, free from the confines of a rehab center. It wouldn't be just letters (even as he had been given electronic privileges, they'd stuck to letters for the sake of nostalgia), phone calls, or meets in his doctor's office. He could see her face in his mind, smiling brightly at him as he opened up his presents for him on his birthday. The way the light touched her eyes, it was like heaven itself had graced him with her.

Continuing with the program and being released would mean standing right next to her, breathing the same air that she did, working alongside her in the Mystery Room, and everything else that she was willing to offer him. If their romantic pairing didn't work out, he hoped she would keep him in his life; she kept him right, even as she wasn't quite aware of it. By all means, he could just pen a letter while sober and then partake in the recreational drug and she'd have absolutely no knowledge of it if he could help it. 

She wouldn't have to know.

It would betray her in the worst way possible, losing the trust and faith she had placed on his shoulders since her letter back to his inquiry. Trust was so tricky to procure, particularly for someone with an addictive tendency. If he broke it, the time it would take to rebuild...he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to entertain the notion any further. He could see it now, the way her face would fall and the disappointment irreverent in her thinly veiled expression. She wouldn't outwardly show it intensely if she could help it, but it would be there. He would be the reason why she looked that way.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. It shouldn't be a dilemma; the obviously positive decision was just a metre away: the door. Find Sam, find his doctor, find _someone_ and get it away from him as soon as possible.

Alfendi opened the door to his room, feet having a mind of their own as he marched straight to his doctor—Dr. Watson's—office, ignoring any other rehab patient that gave him a confused stare. He opened it without attempting to knock, intentionally ignoring the red card on the door that indicated that he was busy. Alfendi burst in, interrupting a session between him and some other addict. Dr. Watson's brow furrowed as he looked up, clearly frustrated at this sudden intrusion.

"Mr. Layton, what—" Dr. Watson began, perhaps about to start a diatribe on why there is such a thing as knocking. 

"I need you to call the Yard." He cut in smoothly, ignoring Dr. Watson's and the other patient's eyebrow raise. He could see Dr. Watson's irritance, both at being interrupted and Alfendi's desire to make demands from him. 

"Mr. Layton, I don't—" Dr. Watson tried again, but Alfendi shook his head fervently.

"Dr. Watson, we don't have time for this. Someone put cocaine in my room, perhaps also drugging me with another anesthetic that has rendered some sort of temporary memory loss, which will come back in time. The whole point of this place is to keep the drugs away from other addicts, is it not? I would quite like it if I didn't have it in my room, unless we'd like to revisit the incident from last year." Alfendi paused, deciding to add another point that would spur Dr. Watson to do something. "And I can guarantee that Sam is most likely missing or unconscious in the building; his badge was placed with the cocaine."

Alfendi finished his little diatribe with a huff and Dr. Watson had the decency to look marginally composed, the only indicator of his surprise being the way his blue eyes narrowed. The doctor took a moment, looking to Alfendi before conceding to the facts and nodding sharply.

"Er, I'm not aware of Sam being missing; he came for work. However, if you are correct, I will dial the Yard now. Sorry, Scott." Dr. Watson looked to the other man in the room apologetically.

"It's fine, Doctor. He's right anyway. Can't have that around here." Scott shrugged, leaning back into his chair, his dark curls bouncing with the movement. Dr. Watson moved to his phone, dialing the appropriate number without segue and explained the situation warily to the other person on the line. Alfendi, pleased with himself, stepped out and waited for the Yard to appear. He hoped, even as it was unlikely, that Lucy would be the Inspector on the case, even though she was technically attuned to murders only. Lucy. He needed to call her. He almost made the decision to step into the front desk to use their phone when Scott left the office, motioning for Alfendi to go back inside, to which he did and took the seat Scott had occupied moments ago.

"Mr. Layton, the Yard members will arrive shortly. At the mere mention of your name, their tune was quite...different." Dr. Watson said as a greeting, attempting an easy-going smile. Alfendi bit back the urge to roll his eyes and opted for what he hoped was a sheepish smile. 

"Good." Dr. Watson cleared his throat, idly shuffling some papers on his desk, then peered up with him in a pointed stare that took Alfendi partially off guard.

"I actually called you in to discuss this...whole thing before the Yard takes your statement. You said you found the drug in your room, yes?"

"Mm." Alfendi made a sound of affirmation, nodding warily.

"I'm surprised. You could have taken it, I'm sure. You're an intelligent man, Mr. Layton. What changed your decision? You openly let yourself insert the needle without so much as a hesitation last time." Dr. Watson leaned forward slightly, the fluorescent light making his blonde fringe brighter than it actually was. 

"Lucy happened." Alfendi said without a second thought.

"Right, the woman you've written your letters to. That pen pal program is immensely effective, I'll have to look into it for some of my other patients." Dr. Watson tipped his head forward slightly, a smile playing on his thin lips. Alfendi, for once, bit back the desire to give a snarky response back in retaliation at the blond doctor. "You got a wonderful thing out of it, I see. Love does make people do things we'd never think be possible in the past. I suppose you plan to tell her of your current situation?"

Would he? She could be disappointed in him, or perhaps worse, concerned for his well-being. It would do no good to concern her with this matter but... At the dilemma playing at Alfendi's facial expression, Dr. Watson shook his head.

"It would be best, I believe, if you told her now, Mr. Layton." He motioned for the phone that was on his desk. "I'm sure she'd much rather hear the news from you than a co-worker."

Alfendi nodded and Dr. Watson took the phone from it's cradle, handing it over to him. 

"Call her, Alfendi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit that there wasn't going to be a whole Makepeace debacle in the first place. I had a rough outline in the event there was no Diane, that it would focus solely on trying to get Alfendi better because he stumbled upon the drug on his own. But it didn't really suit his character, you know? I feel like he still would "desire to be normal" by some sort of degree, but the drugs made it all easier.
> 
> When I first thought up the story, there was going to be but as the story progressed, I felt like there wasn't any need but then...I don't even know what happened. The story took off. So, here we are. I hope it doesn't feel forced—I tried determining the best time for Alfendi's release along with Diane's meddling, so...yeah. Man, writing stories like this is so tedious but ever so fun.


	26. January 29th, 2013 - Phone Call #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual:
> 
> Prof is in bold  
> Lucy is in italics

_"Blimey, there's such a thing as leaving a message! Isn't that what voicemail is for? Fifty four calls, while I'm at work? Who the 'eck is this?"_

**"...Lucy."**

_"Prof? Oh, is that you? Why do you sound so faint? Are you alright? What's wrong? I didn't know it was you—this number isn’t in my mobile. Who's phone are you calling from?"_

**"It's Dr. Watson's personal phone line. Something...has happened."**

_"Summat has happened? What? What do you mean? What is it? Are you okay?"_

**”...”**

_”Prof, you’re scarin’ me—”_

**"...I am not sure how to say this without disappointing you immensely."**

_"Ee, disappointin' me? What do you mean? Oh, no, wait, don't answer that. Take your time Prof, I'm sorry I snapped at you...I didn't expect you to call from a different phone, so er..."_

**"I was given it again."**

_"Given...what, Prof?"_

**"Lucy, please. Don't be obtuse. There's only one thing that I could be given here that would warrant fifty four frantic phone calls rather than one message to your voicemail, as you put it."**

_"Oh, no...did they...is it...?"_

**"..."**

_"By 'eck, it is, isn't it? Who gave it to you?"_

**"That's what some of Scotland Yard's supposed finest are currently trying to figure out. They've been here since the center called them, but they're at a dead-end at the moment. The security cameras at the center from the last three hours have been corrupted and none of the staff are aware of the individual I described. It's a complete shift of last time; rather than someone leaving it for me to find on my pillow, she gave it to me directly."**

_"She? Your suspect is a lass?"_

**"Indeed. The memory is a tad bit fuzzy—I was given some sort of anesthetic for the woman to escape, but I can vaguely recall it when I think. She knocked out Sam; they just found him inside the fresh linen room an hour ago."**

_"Christ, is 'e alright?"_

**"He's only come round to recently. Mild concussion, but he'll live."**

_"Was she registered in the system? Maybe that's 'ow she got in."_

**"If I knew her name, I would have tried it. All we have is initials—DM."**

_"Prof—"_

**"If you're worried that I partook in the substance, I didn't.”**

_”That’s good to hear but—“_

**”I...I contemplated, then barged into my doctor's office and told him the situation, which is why we're here today. But Lucy, it was there. The itch, the feeling of just being able to just at my fingertips. The powder in that bag, Lucy, was the most potent I've ever seen it to be."**

_"Prof—"_

**"I almost destroyed the amount of progress I have made just by staring at it—almost pressed that self destruct button in my mind and let it take me. I rationalized it all in my head, Lucy, before I could help myself. It would have been so easy. I wouldn't have made the same mistake as last time and checked the dosage properly. The simpletons here wouldn't be able to tell if I did it during lights out, along with the amount—"**

_"Prof, slow down, stop. Just...stop. Please."_

**"I...have I upset you?"**

_"No, no, you ‘aven't...I just...I'm trying to wrap my ‘ead around the whole thing. Someone_ _targeted you, Prof, this isn't...You didn't do anything wrong. Blimey, 'ow could this 'ave 'appened?"_

**"There's no conclusive understanding yet, but I woke up to her sitting on my desk chair and started being playful, making threats and speaking to me with familiarity of my role at the Yard. It's most likely that she snuck in, perhaps Sam got in her way during his rounds, which lead to his incapacitation.**

**"The conclusion I've come across is that I did something to her in the past, but I don't know what it could be. No matter how much I try to will the memory back, it's no use. However, had she wanted me to just be seen high and kept here longer, she would have just inserted the needle while I was asleep—I wouldn't be able to get myself out of that. She gave me a choice and expected me to fall into it like last time, subsequently demeaning my progress."**

_”And you didn’t.”_

**”No, it...I didn't.”**

_"Blimey, Prof, I'm so proud of you."_

**"What?”**

_”You ‘eard me, Prof. I’m proud of you. Absolutely floored.”_

**”Proud of me? Baker, I considered—"**

_"You considered it, Prof. That's the key word there. You didn't put it in your system, did you? Would I see a track mark if I marched over there, right now and pulled up your ratty long sleeve up?"_

**"No, but—"**

_"Stop making reasons up as to why you've failed in your recovery. What you did? That's a victory in my book. Really, Prof, it is. Don't give me that sigh, I hear it. Aye, you 'ad that itch, the feeling of wanting. But you didn't. You said it yourself, yeah? You rationalized it, making up plans and excuses in your 'ead. But you didn't. That's where that woman failed to see how strong you've become in the past few months. You...well, you did the right thing. I'm proud of you for overcoming it through your willpower."_

**"Hm."**

_"Prof, you know it's true."_

**"Willpower had nothing to do with it. It's because I remembered you, Baker. Simplicity itself."**

_"What? Me?"_

**"Your face was what came to mind. I thought of every possible way your face would fall, perhaps be disappointed in me for choosing to shoot up once again. Even if you found out through a letter or through a phone call, I could...I could see it in my mind when I contemplated. It wiped everything I made up, everything I considered. Gone, replaced with that disappointment that would haunt me if I chose to."**

_"Oh, Prof—"_

**"It is a testament to how much you've grown to be a priority within my life, Baker. I cannot...It has changed everything; I've been aware of it for awhile, but this properly puts it in action."**

_"By 'eck, Prof...I—"_

**"You don't have to comment a response, Lucy. I corrected you on your assumption. That is all."**

_"Aye...okay. Okay, if you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine... D_ _o you...do you suppose this is because of one of your old cases?"_

**"It's definitely plausible, perhaps a 87.32% of a chance. She spoke of me 'ruining her family' and how she had plans to 'ruin me in return' but didn't need to put in the work because 'I already do that for myself on a normal basis' but I apparently need a little 'push.' I've ruined a lot of families in my long line of cases, so it could take a long period of time to determine who may have a bone to pick with me."**

_"Who would keep such a big grudge on you? Most criminals don't have a large empire to expand their network and since she was able to corrupt the cameras, summat must have been up, aye? It's not like she posed as a new inpatient either to get under your skin; she posed as a nurse, yeah?"_

**"Hmm, yes that’s correct. Most of my cases were hardly large enough to be consequential to the criminal underground; at most they were passionate affairs that turned rough. It must be something else entirely, but I don't know what it could be."**

_"Blimey, maybe you shouldn't leave in March just yet if these are the people that are after you, Prof. It'll be dangerous to be out 'ere."_

**"Nonsense, Lucy. If she can get in here, nowhere is particularly safe for me. It would be better that I leave the confines of this rehab as soon as possible to configure what's going on exactly."**

_"Ee, well, if you're sure. I just...I'm worried."_

**"They'll give me some form of security and put me in a different area, so there's nothing to particularly worry about. I suppose you’ll get your wish of giving me a bigger room.”**

_”A-Aye. Yeah, heh, I suppose so. I...I er, almost convinced your father. Saves me the work now.”_

**“Lucy, this isn't like last time where they found me with the drugs and they could make the feeble connection that I 'snuck it in' somehow. Sam was attacked and the footage corrupted—it's not just about getting a fix anymore. It seems to be personal revenge."**

_"Aye..."_

**"I must take my leave, Lucy, they still need another statement from me. I'll write to you soon again, I promise. Perhaps you may be able to get information from the Inspector in charge of this case later that you can relay to me—I will notify him. I believe his name is DI Dimmock. Dermont."**

_"Alright. I know of ‘im. Just be careful, for me? Please?"_

**"Yes, yes, I shall. In return, you mustn’t worry yourself further. March will come around as soon as time shall will it.”**

_"Okay, I can...I can do that. I promise. I'll speak to you soon, Prof."_

**"Goodbye, my dear."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Prof, being subjected through his weakness...


	27. March 20th, 2013 - Part 1

"By 'eck, he's gonna have my head now!" Lucy cursed under her breath, sighing.

Lucy combed a hand through her short ginger hair as she dashed into the Scotland Yard, giving a side glance to one of the officers eyed her in a considering manner that would normally elicit concern but she had no time to think of it. She was madly late, _again_. It didn't matter that she just turned twenty-three; Dartwright still expected her to be prompt and precise to the office and gave her hell every single time. Of course, she gave him hell back by solving the case faster than he could keep up, but it was still all the same—she was late. She'd rather not gain the ire of her mentor in any other manner other than that; he'd definitely keep her as an assistant forever rather than offering a good word of her work if she continued that way.

Lucy turned a corner, nearing the back offices with an apology in her throat when she heard a voice that she had only heard in person once and thrice in phone calls, berating his audience in a manner that was ever so familiar to her. It was the baritone that she used to read every letter she received in her head; the man that she believed in wholeheartedly and had been corresponding with for several months now. That same voice, it seemed, based on the commotion in the next corridor, was inciting chaos. She furrowed her brow, confused.

"...that same attitude that you're extruding, Justin, is the very reason why the Judas case hasn't been solved under your supposed _watchful_ eye, as per usual. How did you manage without me?" The voice snarked and she could practically imagine the way he must look—positively seething.

"If you're referring to the Judas case I think you're referring to, you know that it's solved and you're just being a prick, _as per usual_." The voice of Justin Lawson rang out in the hallway, booming and deep as it always was, emphasizing the final few words.

"I'm not here to argue with any of you.” The owner of the voice let out a long and exasperated sigh. “Let me pass, it's my damn office, Lawson. I'm trying to surprise her. I know she's not taking a day off for her birthday, don't try to fool me with that excuse."

What was Alfendi doing here, back so early? It was the 20th, not the 23rd, she knew that for sure. The Detective Constable had been counting the days, excitement in all of her letters as each day passed. How could she not? 

"Hah, fat chance, Layton! As if Lucy would ever be associated with you." Another voice, Blaine's to be exact, remarked. Lucy frowned, a surge of irritance hitting her at his words. "You're not welcome here ever since your little stunt, you know that. The moment you turned to the needle was the moment you lost the privilege of owning this office. The only reason why it's even untouched is because Barton is friends with your father.”

Lucy slowed her steps to a leisurely pace as she neared the next corner, peering out as she saw what was going on, careful not to reveal herself prematurely. Hilda, Justin, Blaine, Florence, and Alfendi were standing outside the Mystery Room, with the three Detective Inspectors standing in front of the Mystery Room as though they were guarding it. Lucy's breath hitched at the sight of Alfendi—he was wearing a sleek form-fitting navy suit, the top two buttons of his white button-up undone to reveal his throat and a patch of skin. Alfendi seems to have cleaned himself up, a clean shave and his long red hair in a neat low ponytail. He looked positively radiant in comparison to how she had seen him before—horribly sunken features of withdrawal and wearing ill fitting clothes on his person—not that she had been necessarily opposed at seeing him in that state per se, but this...he looked like he belonged here, demanding the attention of all that came his way. His Scotland Yard badge was clipped on his belt and as he shifted his jacket, she could see it shine under the fluorescent lights.

Florence stood besides Alfendi, holding onto her IV pole tightly to the point where her knuckles seemed to be turning white. Even from this angle, the Detective Constable could see how Florence's jaw was clenched, equally as frustrated at the trio like the recovering drug addict next to her. 

"That's a low blow, Blaine." Florence said, then hacked a nasty cough. "You know it's his office," a sneeze, "and he wasn't disturbing any of you."

"Flo, you know how—" Blaine tried to say, then Hilda raised a manicured hand, effectively shutting the blond Detective Inspector up. He adjusted his white frames, frowning.

"Look, we're just surprised that you're back so...soon. I'm glad to see that you're well, Al, but—" 

"Spare me the pleasantries, Hilda," Alfendi cut the blonde woman off with growl. Hilda clammed up immediately. "We all know you aren't glad to see me; you'd rather wish I was gone and out of your overly cared for hair, I'm sure. God, it's all rushing back to me at just how ridiculous you troglodytes are. Now let me go into my damn office. I might as well pick up the slack if this is the Yard's finest until Lucy arrives. She did tell me how late she gets sometimes; I'd be late too if I had to associate myself with you lot for long periods."

Alfendi attempted to push past Justin, who made no effort of moving. Alfendi scowled as Hilda clenched her hands into fists, partially trembling.

"Damn it, Al! You're still the cynical arsehole I remember! Always thinking of yourself and tossing those insults like you're above it all!" Hilda crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing to slits. Alfendi flicked his eyes up and down her figure then his lips upturned to a smirk that bordered on sadistic. Lucy's brows furrowed.

"I may be above you all, as you so eloquently put it, but you're the one opting to be on the floor. I'd wager that you're still sleeping with Justin, going by the state of your knees. Of course, two dimwits getting together, that's no surprise," Alfendi rolled his eyes as Hilda and Justin both blushed profusely, sputtering at the insinuation the man made in an effort to deny it. Florence's eyebrows raised; Blaine could only stare, unable to find any witty rejoinder against Alfendi's ruthless verbal assault. "Unless of course, you're just cleaning his floors. That would be nice of you, hm? He has kept you company while I've been away."

"Keep talking and I'll shoot bullets into _your_ kneecaps, Al!" Justin growled, practically ready to strangle him by the way he rolled up his jacket's sleeves further. "Or maybe I should shoot a bullet in your that head of yours and see what's in it, since you think you're all high and mighty as per usual."

"Oh, is that a threat? How droll of you, Justin. I'm almost inclined to take you up on that, truly. You're lucky that I'm on my best behaviour for Lucy because I—"

"Ee, what's going on 'ere? Prof, is that you?" Lucy chose this moment to finally say something, effectively halting any words that would have tumbled out of Alfendi's mouth. Five heads turned to her direction, each with different comically amusing expressions that ranged from pleasantly surprised to just plain shocked. In any other situation, Lucy would have laughed but instead she smiled sheepishly, preening under the sudden attention. She adjusted her trusty orange cap anxiously in a valiant attempt to keep her hands from fidgeting. When nobody spoke, she added on, "Er, I thought you said that your release date was on the 23rd?"

"Well, I couldn't miss your birthday, now could I? My doctor found it acceptable to let me go three days early from my improvements. Thanks to you, my dear." Alfendi grinned back at her as though they were the only two in the hall. The comical expressions on the three Detective Inspectors seemed to increase in their incredulity at the development—Lucy knew Alfendi. It wasn't him spouting nonsense, he truly did. Florence, on the other hand, only smirked knowingly at Lucy with her upturned thin lip. All the animosity that dragged Alfendi's features disappeared, leaving only a soft expression that melted her heart. It was the same expression he had donned back when she first promised that she wouldn't give up on him. It quickly fell as he glared back towards the three guards that blocked his way.

"If these simpletons could let me go back into the Mystery Room, I have a surprise for you." Alfendi added.

"Lucy, pray tell, how are you associated with this fool?" Blaine asked, breaking the silence between the three Detective Inspectors. Alfendi's scowl returned, deepening, but he allowed Lucy to take the floor. It was up to her on how she wanted to describe their association with one another, five pairs of eyes looking to her expectantly.

"Er...I've been writing letters to 'im while 'e's been in rehab," Lucy responded with a shrug, not really sure at what the whole deal was. They, except for Florence, all looked like Alfendi's comeback was the return of something incorrigible. "Been so since September of last year. Summat wrong wit' that?" 

If her friendliness with Alfendi was one thing, apparently tolerating him since September was a feat on it's own by the way Justin and Blaine's jaw practically dropped to the floor. Hilda only gave the slightest indicator by the means of her hand going onto her right hip, her lips downturned to a frown.

"Since September? Is that why you asked about him then?" Hilda filled in the blanks for the other two, recognition glimmering in her eyes.

"Aye, that's right. Now, if you don't mind, it's my birthday and I want nowt to ruin it." Lucy, in a surge of bravery, strode forward and gave a peck on Alfendi's cheek. It was Alfendi's turn to look surprised, cheeks turning to a furious red that rivaled his own hair. Lucy took it a step further, clasping her hand in his and intertwined their fingers, rough and slender hands meeting soft and small ones. "My boyfriend and I have lots to discuss since he's finally returned and I'd appreciate it if you lot left us to catch up."

The silence that permeated the hallway screamed louder than any other shout that either party could express after the declaration. Alfendi squeezed her soft hand, in a question, as if he was asking: _Really?_ Lucy squeezed back, hoping that it was enough to answer the unspoken question.

"Your _boyfriend_?" Blaine exclaimed, spluttering as he tried to wrap his head around the concept. He took off his white frames, wiping them with a microfiber cloth he produced from his jacket pocket idly, as though it would bring him clarity in regards to the entire situation. "You...him...but...but... _what?_ You've only known him for a few months!"

"Stop being so obtuse, Bratwright. It suits you normally, but it's useless right now," Alfendi scoffed, regaining himself. "Must you always repeat what everyone says? Is it too hard for you to understand that I am in an amorous relationship?"

"Now you listen here, Layton—" 

"You all heard her," Florence spoke up, cutting off Blaine without prompt. "We can all ask our questions later—we should all go. Preferably before the Commissioner catches wind of our socializing. We're all—" another sneeze, "—on the clock."

The trio glanced at each other, realizing that they've been beaten without Lucy even uttering any sort of insult or physically getting violent. Rather than attempting to upset the young woman or her beau any further, they shuffled out and away from the Mystery Room door with hushed whispers shared between the three of them. When they were out of earshot, Florence turned to the two.

"I'll leave you two to it. Meet me at the lab when you finish up." Florence sniffed, shuffling towards to the Forensics labs. Alfendi turned to Lucy, an aloof smile gracing his features once more. It was so infectious that Lucy smiled as well.

"I forgot how simple they all are," Alfendi finally said with a wistful shake of his head. "How did you ever manage?"

"Give them some credit, they didn't know." Lucy said, laughing. Alfendi easily joined with a chuckle, peering down at their joined hands. Lucy followed his gaze, then glanced back up to him. His olive eyes were bright with meaning, unasked questions bubbling within him that he seemed unsure of. 

"Well, neither did I, my dear." He opts to say instead. 

"You said you 'ad a surprise for me, Prof?" She smiled softly and he lit up like a Christmas tree, nodding.

"It's nothing much in comparison to the surprise you offered me," he says as he opens the door, revealing the messy neatness of the Mystery Room in its glory that she had been used to for the past several months. Nights of subpar coffees and cuppas, along with take-out from the nearby bakery that Lucy could dash to before they closed. All of that led to this.

A ridiculous amount of sweets from Jenny's bakery, along with a couple of gifts that seemed to be hastily wrapped occupied the arm chairs and desk. It was like when she found the small gift he had given to her for Christmas, which had been an emerald jumper that was shockingly in her size—which later she had learned had been a mere guess. He strode forward as he reclaimed his space with Lucy in tow. It almost felt like deja-vu, with the way this seemed to emulate her visit just a few months prior but in a much more familiar setting.

It all felt way too fast.

Even as she waited for this day for the past two months, there was a sense of surrealism when she felt the warmth emanate from his hand intertwined against hers—he was really here. Lucy chewed her lip.

"Ee, do you mind if I make tea? Two sugars and a dash of milk, aye?" She asked and Alfendi glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, the British cure-all for any and all ailments. I suppose it wouldn't be as bad as the tasteless nonsense at the center." Alfendi mused and Lucy let go of his hand, opting to lightly slap him on the arm.

"Aye, aye, that might be true, but we have too many sweets. We'll need somethin' to wash it down, aye?" Alfendi merely hummed and Lucy took that as her cue to leave, stepping out and into the corridor. As she stepped closer to the break room, she was once again, privy to a conversation that was about her. She lingered by the door, listening as someone worked the kettle and was making a cuppa. 

"...she's mad. Absolutely mad." Blaine said and Lucy could practically hear the buzzing in his voice—the poor Inspector was probably on his third cup of coffee, needing a pick-me-up after that scene in the hallway. "Barton called me in earlier, you know? Apparently, she'll be learning under him, effective immediately."

"And he said nothing of their...relationship?" Hilda's voice rang through, her clipped, clinical tone clear as day. Lucy grimaced.

"Bloody hell, he's aware of it alright," Blaine responded. " _She_ , apparently, is the reason why he got sober."

"Christ, that's a lot of faith for that wallflower to be the only reason why he's not shooting up." Justin remarked, slamming his hand on one of the wooden tables of the break room and Lucy narrowed her eyes. _Wallflower?_ "Perhaps they're not actually dating and she's just his keeper. There's people like that out there, yeah?"

A beat of silence passed—Lucy almost grabbed ahold of the door handle when Hilda's voice cut through the silence once more.

"It's unlikely. You saw the way she looked at him—she really does love Al," Hilda sighed wearily, almost in a resigned manner of a former lover. "It's unlikely we'd ever be able to try to steer her away from it if she's so ingrained with him."

"So she'd just have to learn for herself what that man is like? Placid was one thing, but he's supposed to be _sober_ now. Which means Layton in full force, no filters. Nothing to keep her from his verbal assault, like the one in the hallway. We all bloody well know what that means." Lucy could practically see the seething expression on Blaine's face, akin to when she'd solve something before he could.

"Do we really, Blaine? Their correspondence is too long for her to have any misgivings on her status with him." Hilda murmured.

"Oi, which side are you on?" Justin barked.

"Nobody's. You know I stopped seeing Al after he started shooting up. It's not—"

Lucy chose this moment to step in. If she was going to hear any of this, she wasn't going to hear it through a mahogany door nor through a secondary source that wasn't Alfendi. Lucy had the grace to look bashful, as she asked, "Did I interrupt? Sorry, I just wanted to get the Prof a cuppa."

"Er, no, Lucy, you didn't." Blaine responded, sipping his cup of coffee to keep his mouth shut. Lucy strode over to where Hilda stood and went through the motions of filling the cuppa without much of another word. Even without glancing behind her, she could feel the sets of eyes boring eyes into her back; unanswered questions and demands seeping through the cracks of the wall.

"What do you see in him, Lucy?" Blaine spoke, to which Lucy turned around and just as she had suspected, three pairs of eyes stared at her with confusion that she thought she had seen with suspects that feigned innocence.

"A lotta things, really." Lucy smiled slyly. None of them seemed convinced.

"You surely know he's dangerous, yes?" Hilda asked, crossing her arms. "He threatens—"

"Of course I do!" Lucy cut in, blood boiling like the kettle. Blaine raised his eyebrows. Nobody, not even Blaine, had ever seen Lucy snap like that. "Do you know what I know, Hilda?"

When Hilda gave a minute nod, Lucy blazed on.

"I know he's fresh out of rehab, still believing that he can go sober permanently this time—which he can. I know he can. I know he threatens people with cutting their tongues. I know he finds interest in murders and thinks suspects are deluded fools, as he says. I don't...I 'old no delusions, really. I've been around an alcoholic, this is no different. It's an addiction, summat that takes time to cure with the right amount of support and trust." Lucy huffed, looking back to the box of PG tips. "Summat you lot didn't see or do for him when he was strugglin'. Don't you wonder why he did drugs in the first place?"

"And what, pray tell, did he tell you?" Hilda asked, her expression remaining as stoic as it always was. Justin leaned back against his chair; Blaine just drank his coffee in silence.

"It's not my place to tell you anything he's told me. And if you're gonna give me some rubbish tale about what he was like back then, I don't want to hear it." She finished up the cuppas and picked them up. "I want to hear it from 'im, you hear me?"

Lucy did not grace them an answer and walked past them, knowing fully well they did. If Alfendi wanted her, she was willing to be that support, no matter what. His past was not hers to behold, rather it was his future that she wanted to share with him, if he was amendable to it. Lucy pushed open the Mystery Room and smiled at the sight of Alfendi leaning into the Reconstruction Machine, as though he owned the space. He didn't look up until she placed the cuppa on the desk, a smile playing on her features.

This is exactly where she wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it sounds like an end, but it's not. Still got a few more chapters on the way. Some meddling co-workers. Some meddling daughters that are still grieving. Other interesting things.


	28. March 20th, 2013 - Part 2

Alfendi was no stranger to drug busts.

He had both seen it in action for other homes during a lead in a case and for himself; the latter was hardly something he'd ever want to go through again. His whole flat had been upturned, quite literally, and they never found anything because they didn't quite _see_ nor do they think outside the box, much to Alfendi's previous amusement.

The first drug bust occurred on the suspicion that he had been using, under the thinly veiled concept that Keelan Makepeace, his last major case before he started using, was coming after him with an explosive in his home via a letter, they had to check his flat. The rest of the drug busts became excuses to prove, somehow, that he was using. They never really worked; Alfendi knew when to move the drugs and had different places to put them in, being much more clever than the Yard in that capacity.

He put the key into the hole, unlocking it after what felt like an eternity past and stepped into it with a distinct waft of lemon coming straight to his nostrils. Clearly, someone had been in, just by the state of the cleanliness and lack of dust on the coffee table. He grimaced; he never quite liked having people over in his modest flat that was bordering on a bedsit. Hanging his coat, Alfendi sighed, trying to figure out who had been in his home, most likely to his father's discretion. He almost continued into the flat when he saw a small little note on the kitchen table. Striding over, he picked it up and realized that it was Lucy's friendly scrawl, something he had memorized within his head long ago. She must have cleaned prior to her birthday, considering she had no knowledge of his return until that moment in the hallway. 

_Prof -_

_Your father asked me to tidy up the place. I promise I didn't go into any of your stuff, but I dusted around and just made sure your fridge was stocked and all. Blimey, you shoulda seen your home before I cleaned it. I was sneezing everywhere! You won't have that problem anymore though. :)_

_I'm glad you're back, do text or call me when you get home, I wanna hear your rating of my cleaning. I think you'll have a phone by now? I'm not sure. Anyway, I left my mobile number down there if you do get one if I don't see you at the Yard on your first day back._

_Yours,  
Lucy Baker_

Alfendi smiled, fishing out his mobile that was one of the few things the center kept for him. Thumbing her number into his contacts, he sent a quick text.

**Sent  
_Baker, it's the Prof._**

Almost immediately, he gained a response. Several responses in one go, actually. 

**Received**  
_**hi prof! glad to hear from you :)** _  
_**did you get home safely?** _  
_**wait of course you did, you're** _  
_**texting me right now haha.  
I hope I didn't mess up your flat  
that much!** _

Even within texting, she had that bubby persona that made Alfendi smirk.

**Sent  
_Of course not. Your cleaning skill_  
_is quite impeccable. You didn't_  
_have to, even if my father did say so._**

**Received  
_you'd probably need it anyway,_  
_it'd been awhile since you'd been_  
_in your flat, aye? that fridge of yours_  
_was absolutely bare!_** ****

**Sent  
_Quite right. What are you doing now,_  
_then Lucy?_**

**Received**  
_**crap telly and some takeout, really** _  
_**that's kind of my normal routine,  
birthday or not. what are you gonna  
do then, Prof?** _

**Sent  
_I'm not so sure. I feel foreign in my_  
_own home, much to my chagrin. I_  
_may just spend my time remembering_  
_my place in the flat._**

**Received  
_well if you need company on the phone_  
_or on text, you know who to talk to :)_**

Alfendi smiled at that—maybe he'd take up on her offer later.

**Sent  
_Yes, yes of course. I will leave you to your_**  
_**'crap telly' and takeout. I might get some** _  
_**myself.** _

**Received**  
_**aye, okay. I'll talk to you later then. good  
night, Prof, if I don't end up hearing from  
you!** _

**Sent** _**  
Good night, Lucy.** _

Alfendi put the phone down, glancing up at the mirror that was across from him. Somehow during his texting, he had made it to the hallway, where he had a garish mirror staring back at him. He was always a lanky man, never quite necessarily reaching the proper threshold between body fat and muscle, but he looked healthier than he ever had in years after being forced in rehab. He touched his chin stubble, examining his face clearly. He remembered what he looked like back on the drug—panicky, eyes dilated and absolutely wrecked at times, but that Placid personality always came in full force whenever he did. The personality _they_ liked better.

He grimaced, his reflection copying him. The supposed 'intervention' that had came in the hallway of the Yard wasn't something he wanted Lucy to see, but they had to ruin everything. He could tell that they did, just by the way Lucy seemed much more reserved when they spent their day at the Mystery Room. She labeled it to her feeling exhausted at turning twenty-three, but she was a horrid liar and her feelings were all their fault. Those three simpletons were only concerned about themselves; hoping that he'd fall from grace yet again to get out of their guilty hair and get Lucy supposedly 'out of a bad situation.' He hardly wanted to harbour anything from her, knowing fully well that she wouldn't appreciate it and could very well leave him.

He shudders at the thought.

He made his own separate vow, the day he chose to get sober: Lucy would come first.

It sounded odd, truthfully, in a logical sense. Why was he placing such a high standard for Lucy, someone he had only met for such a short period of time? She didn't know the entirety of his secrets for the most part; the cocaine use, yes, but everything from his childhood to now had always been a topic they never breached to a point. The Detective Constable had gotten her initial deduction towards the reasoning of his cocaine usage correct, but one day, he knew, he'd have to give it to her in the full scale when he was ready. She could very well leave and he wouldn't blame her.

Alfendi sighed to himself, stepping away from the mirror and entered his bedroom, turning on the lights. Like the rest of his flat, it smelled faintly of lemons and was cleaned well. Nothing seemed necessarily out of place and he was too tired to check further than an initial inspection. He shed his jacket, throwing it haphazardly on a nearby wooden chair and almost laid down on the soft bed when he saw _it_.

The item had been fairly ignored during a previous drug bust, something that Alfendi still found amusing to this day. He crouched down, pulling out a simple slipper from under the bedside drawer that to anyone, just seemed like an out of place item that had been forgotten. Lucy didn't seem to see it.

His veins sung the moment he reached into the slipper and pulled out his prize with trembling fingers. Since when did his fingers start to tremble?

It didn't scream to him in the same way like it did in the rehab center; perhaps because he knew for a fact this was a contingency plan that had always been present for years prior (or rather because there wasn't some unknown blonde woman there playing games with him and he _wasn't_ tied up to his bed). The white powder and bag glimmered in the lamp light, like a siren's call that he was privy to. In a familiar setting such as this, it felt more like a comfort rather than a fear to be holding the demon that had been bothering him for years. The grams in his hand offered many things all at once—clarity, understanding, and being able to have some sort of definition of _'_ _normal'._

He hated it.

That ridiculous notion of wanting to fit into a box, using a drug to achieve such nirvana and mannerisms that should have been easy to claim.

He could go in circles, dancing around it like he had been for four years, opting to destroy what he had.

Destroying himself because it was easier than allowing those that cared for him in—though, he supposes he could argue that there was nobody like that back then till Lucy.

If you had asked him, between the time he started and the first day of rehab, he'd say that shooting up was akin to finally feeling alive.

He wasn't so sure anymore what being alive was anymore. Not in a depressive manner, but that definition he had placed on that idea before was waning. Before the drugs, it was murder cases. After the drugs, it was murder cases _and_ cocaine. During rehab, there wasn't really much except the concept of getting his next fix, but even the doctors were able to tell he wasn't sincere in his desire to get sober and kept him in. After rehab, he wasn't so sure anymore. Was it Lucy? Was it the euphoria of being able to move past it in some way? What would make him feel alive now, now that he was out?

Alfendi huffed a breath out, nostrils flaring as he replaced the substance back into the slipper and put it back where it belonged. His veins bemoaned the loss of the thing he wanted, but he shook it away, stepping back and falling into his bed as it groaned in protest. The ceiling looked back down at him, almost in a silent question of what he was going to do in the future. He wasn't in the four suffocating walls of his room at the rehab center. He was home, all by himself. Nobody would technically know.

No.

He couldn't. Not with Lucy waiting. Not with everything he went through to get here again.

One day, he would flush it down or get rid of it in some other way someday with Lucy standing beside him in silent encouragement, hand intertwined with his.

It wasn't going to happen today.

Too soon.

But he would. It would all be thanks to her, someday.

He pulled out his phone and thumbed a quick text.

**Sent  
_Thank you, Lucy._**

**Received**  
_**for what, Prof?** _

**Sent**  
_**Everything.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Interpol's Rest My Chemistry while writing this up and something about that song clicked with them. It was nice.
> 
> The story seems all over the place, but we're getting there. Slowly.


End file.
